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THE    WORKS 

OF 

SHAKESPEARE 

VOL.   Ill 


■y^y^- 


THE    WORKS 


OF 


SHAKESPEARE 


EDITED 
WITH  INTRODUCTIONS  AND  NOTES 

BY 

C.    H.    HERFORD 

LiTT.D. ,  Hon.   Litt.D.   (Vict.) 

PROFESSOR   OF   ENGLISH    LANGUAGE   AND    LITERATURE   IN   THE 
UNIVERSITY  COLLEGE   OF  WALES,   ABERYSTWYTH 


IN  TEN  VOLS. 
VOL.  Ill 


Neta  gorfe 
THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1904 

All  ri^Ais  reserved 


Of  this  Limited  Edition  only  Fi-ve  Hundred  Sets  ha-ve  been 
printed,  of  ivbich  this  is 


CONTENTS 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing —  pace 

Introduction 3 

Text II 

All's  Well  That  Ends  Well— 

Introduction m 

Text "9 

Measure  for  Measure — 

Introduction ■ .  231 

Text 241 

Troilus  and  Cressida — 

Introduction 349 

Text 367 


432683 


MUCH   ADO   ABOUT   NOTHING 


VOL.  Ill 


m  B 


«•        ******        • 


»     • 


■  •  • 


DRAMATIS  PERSONJE 

Don  Pedro,  prince  of  Arragon. 
Don  John,  his  bastard  brother. 
Claudio,  a  young  lord  of  Florence. 
Benedick,  a  young  lord  of  Padua. 
Leonato,  governor  of  Messina. 
Antonio,  his  brother. 
Balthasar,  attendant  on  Don  Pedro. 

CONRADE,      1     f  „  f  T-,         I    u 

,j  y  followers  of  Don  John. 

BORACHIO,     j  ^ 

Friar  Francis. 
Dogberry,  a  constable. 
Verges,  a  headborough, 
A  Sexton. 
A  Boy. 


Hero,  daughter  to  Leonato, 
Be.atrice,  niece  to  Leonato 
Margaret 
Ursula 


I  FT"     1 

'  V  gentlewomen  attending  on  Hero. 


Messengers,  Watch,  Attei.  '.ants,  etc. 
Scene  :  Messina. 

Duration  of  Time 

Mr.  Daniel  analyses  the  'Time'  as  follows  [Transactions 
of  N.  S/tai.  Sol.,  1877-79): — 

Day  I.  1.,  II.  I.,  2. 

,,     2.  II.  3..  III.  I. -3. 

,,    3.  III.  4.,  5.,  IV.,  V.  I. -2.,  3.  (part  of). 

,,    4.  V.  3.  (part  of),  4. 


INTRODUCTION 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing  was  entered  in  the 
Staiioners'  Register,  4th  August  1600,  and  the  only 
Quarto  edition  appeared  in  the  same  year.  It  is 
very  accurate,  and  probably  authentic  ;  the  Folio  being 
reprinted  from  it  with  a  few  omissions  and  some 
slight,  apparently  accidental,  variations  of  no  value. 
Its  title  runs  : 

Much  adoe  about  |  Nothing.  As  it  hath  been 
sundrie  times pithlikely  \  acted  by  the  right  honourable, 
the   Lord  I  Chamberlaine  his  seruants.  I    Written   by 


V/illiavi    Shakespeare. 
for  Andrew  Wise,  and 


London.  |  Printed   by  V.   S. 

William  Aspley.  |  1600. 
Beyond  a  list  of  the  players,^  among  whom  the 
famous  comedian  Kemp  figured  as  Dogberry,^  nothing 
is  known  of  these  performances  ;  but  the  play,  which 
is  not  mentioned  by  Meres  (1598)  and  is  bound  by 
close  affinities  of  temper  and  style  to  As  Yo^i  Like  It 
and  Twelfth  Night,  v/as  undoubtedly,  in  its  finished 
form,  a  fruit,  like  these,  of  the  rich  years  i  599-1600. 
Like  these,  too,  it  contains  no  definite  traces  of  earlier 
work.  An  interesting  oversight  in  i.  i.,  wliere  Leonato 
is  said  to  enter  accompanied,  not  only  by  LIcro  liis 
daughter  and  Beatrice  his  niece,  but  by  'Imogen 
his  wife,'  tantalises  the  imagination  with  visions  of  a 

'  Prefixed  in  the  First  Folio.        prefixed  to  most  of  Dogberr3''s 
^-  In  iv.   2. ,  also,  '  Kemp  '  is      speeches. 

3 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

second  Hermione  championing  a  slandered  Perdita,^ 
— another  glimpse  of  that  relationship  of  motiier  and 
daughter,  so  rarely  touched  by  Shakespeare.  But  the 
theory  of  a  '  revision '  (the  cheap  panacea  in  som.e 
hands  for  the  slightest  discrepancy)  is  \vholly  un- 
supported by  criteria  of  style.  The  dramatic  manner 
of  Much  Ado  is  flexible  in  the  highest  degree,  but  it 
is  not  at  all  composite.  The  subsequent  fortunes  of 
the  play  were  not,  for  one  of  the  masterpieces  of 
English  comedy,  eventful.  It  was  one  of  the  six 
plays  of  Shakespeare  chosen  for  performance  at  the 
weddina:  festivities  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth  in  1613, 
and,  except  the  unmatched  'Sir  John  Falstaff'  (as 
Henry  IV.  was  called)  and  the  new,  or  recent, 
Tempest  and  Winter's  Tale,  the  only  comedy.  Up  to 
the  closing  of  the  theatres  it  continued  to  fascinate 

high  and  low. 

Let  but  Beatrice 
And  Benedkke  be  scene,  loe  in  a  trice 
The  cockpit,  galleries,  boxes  all  are  full. 

So  wrote  Leonard  Digges  in  1640.  But  after  the 
Restoration  its  brilliance  was  already  a  little  out  of 
date,  and  the  play  might  have  gone  off  the  boards  had 
it  not  occurred  to  Sir  W.  Davenant  to  eke  out  its 
deficiencies  by  fusing  it  with  Measure  for  Measure, 
the  two  being  '  believ'd '  (as  Langbaine  puts  it)  '  to 
have  Wit  enough  in  them  to  make  one  good  play.' 
The  result  was  his  The  Lazv  against  Lovers,  witnessed 
by  Pepys  in  1661  and  published  in  1673. 

The  serious  plot  of  Much  Ado  is  founded  on  the 
story  of  Timbreo  and  Fenicia,  the  twenty-second  of 
Bandello's  novels,  which  Shakespeare  perhaps  read  as 
paraphrased  by  Belleforest  in  his  Histoires  Tragiques. 
Timbreo  is  the  victim  of  a  plot  similar  to  that  laid 

1    In    ii.    I.    the  sta^e    direc-      naming,  Leonato's  wife  among 
lion  also  mentions,  but  without      the  persons  who  enter. 

4 


Introduction 

against  Claudio.  But  its  author  is  a  jealous  rival, 
Girondo,  and  its  agent  not  a  counterfeit  presenter 
of  the  lady  but  a  servant  '  perfumed '  like  a  lover, 
whcm  he  causes  to  ascend  by  night  to  Fenicia's  cham- 
ber window  before  Timbreo's  e}  es.  Timbreo  sends 
a  message  to  her  parents,  breaking  off  the  match. 
Fenicia,  overcome  with  tlie  humiliation,  pines  away, 
but,  when  apparently  at  the  point  of  death,  suddenly 
revives.  Her  parents  thereupon  send  her  secretly  to 
a  distant  retreat,  giving  out  that  she  is  in  fact  dead, 
arid  burying  an  empty  couin  with  solemn  ceremony. 
Girondo  repents,  confesses,  and  begs  Timbreo  to  take 
his  life.  Fenicia  is  restored,  and  Timbreo  recovers 
his  old  fiancee  under  the  semblance  of  a  new. 

A  much  superior  form  of  the  plot-incident  in  this 
fantastic  tale  was  to  be  found  in  Ariosto's  story  of 
Ariodante  and  Genevra  {Orl.  Fur.  c.  v.).  Here  the 
Duke  of  Albany,  Polynesso,  a  rejected  lover  of 
Genevra,  similarly  beguiles  Ariodante,  his  successful 
rival.  But  instead  of  the  perfumed  serving-man,  he 
resorts  to  an  abandoned  mistress  of  his  own,  Genevra's 
maid,  inducing  her  innocently  to  appear  at  her  lady's 
window  in  her  lady's  dress.  The  sequel  differs ; 
Genevra's  imagined  guilt  is  less  lightly  pardoned,  and 
she  is  only  rescued  from  death  by  the  timely  inter- 
vention of  the  champion  Rinaldo. 

The  story  in  both  forms  had  long  been  familiar  in 
England.  Even  before  the  appearance  of  Harington's 
translation  of  the  Orlando  in  i59i,it  had  been  trans- 
lated in  verse  by  Turbervile  and  Beverley ;  and  a 
nameless  playwright  had  produced  a  (lost)  '  Historie  of 
Ariodante  and  Genevora,'  which  was  'showed  before 
her  Majestie  on  Shrove  Tuesdaie  at  night,  in  1583.' 
Spenser  also  introduced  it  into  the  tale  of  Sir  Guyon 
{F.  Q.  ii.  4),  qualifying  it  for  its  place  in  the  allegory 
of  Temperance  by  a  new  conclusion   in  which  the 

5 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

deceived  lover,  an  example  of  headstrong  fury,  actu- 
ally slays  the  innocent  Claribclla  and  vainly  endea- 
vours to  slay  her  handmaid. 

Such  a  story  involved  a  nearer  approach  to  a  tragic 
action  and  to  tragic  pathos  than  anything  in  As  You 
Like  It  or  Ticelfth  Night.  Rosalind's  banishment  on 
pain  of  death  is  but  a  shadowy  threshold  across  which 
she  steps  blithely  into  the  magic  woodlands  of  Arden. 
Even  the  'concealment'  which  preys  on  the  damask 
cheek  of  Viola  cannot  compare  in  poignancy  with  the 
slanderous  outrage  which  crushes  Hero.  Yet  we 'are 
never  in  danger  of  anticipating  a  tragic  issue.  No- 
where is  the  art  more  delicate  with  which  Shakespeare 
communicates  to  the  hearer  an  indefinable  assurance 
that  all  will  go  well.  In  the  earlier  Comedies  he 
achieved  this  by  making  the  controller  of  the  harms 
essentially  amiable  and  humane.  The  duke  who 
condemns  Egeus  in  The  Comedy  of  Errors,  Theseus, 
who  threatens  the  lovers  in  the  Midsunuiier-Nighf s 
Drea'ii,  satisfy  us  in  spite  of  themselves  that  the 
cruelties  these  charming  persons  promise  will  not 
come  off.  In  the  later  Comedies  his  plan  is  a  subtler 
and  more  difficult  one.  He  admits  as  contrivers  of 
harm  persons  purely  malign  and  criminal,  like  Stephano 
and  Antonio  in  The  Tempest,  and  Don  John  in  our 
play,  or  fatuously  cruel,  like  Leontes,  in  The  Winter^s 
Tale,  and  Frederick  in  As  You  Like  It.  Far  from 
being  more  amiable  than  his  prototype  in  Eandello, 
Don  John  is  a  more  unmitigated  scoundrel — the 
purest  embodiment,  perhaps,  in  all  Shakespeare  of 
cynical  egoism.  He  has  neither  Girondo's  excuse  of 
rivalry  in  love  nor  his  after-virtue  of  penitence  ;  he 
hails  the  announcement  of  an  intended  marriage 
before  he  knows  whose  it  is,  with  the  eager  question, 
*  Will  it  serve  as  a  model  to  build  mischief  on  ? '"  But 
egoism  so  unalloyed  as  his  is  self-destructive  ;  and  the 

6 


Introduction 

sense  that  it  is  so  tempers  the  foreboding  it  inspires. 
He  is  a  ' plain-deahng  villain,'  whose  'tart  looks'  give 
fair  warning  of  his  disposition  ;  one  too  indolent  and 
too  dull  to  arm  himself  with  the  successful  criminal's 
weapons  of  hypocrisy  and  craft.  He  is  generally 
shunned  by  the  brilliant  Messina  society  ;  alternately 
spurned  and  indulged  by  the  prince.  Unlike  Edmund 
and  lago  he  captivates  no  friends,  and  his  only 
associate  is  his  tool  Borachio,  who  sees  quite  through 
'  the  devil,  my  master,'  and  provides  the  brains  to  his 
malice  and  gold.  The  cunning  of  this  associate  tends 
somewhat  to  neutralise  the  reassuring  effect  oi  Don 
John's  insignificance ;  but  his  communicativeness 
betrays  the  secret  which  his  master's  morose  temper 
would  have  concealed ;  and  the  accidental  coali- 
tion of  a  passing  shower,  an  opportune  penthouse, 
and  a  '  vigitant '  watchman,  ensures  the  final  dis- 
covery. 

The  play  is  only  half  through,  but  here  is  the 
beginning  of  the  end.  Under  ordinary  conditions 
the  discovery  must  follow  at  once.  Hero  would  be 
vindicated  before  the  marriage,  and  the  whole  scheme 
of  the  drama  would  dissolve.  It  was  necessary  that 
the  discovery  should  be  foreseen  when  that  otherwise 
too  harrowing  scene  takes  place,  but  that  it  should 
not  be  actually  made.  This  double  result  is  secured 
by  the  admirable  creations  of  Dogberry  and  Verges. 
Even  Coleridge  could  regard  them  as  somewhat 
irrelevant  fig.ures  '  forced  into  the  service  '  of  the  plot, 
'when  any  other  less  ingeniously  absurd  watchmen 
and  night  constables  would  have  answered  the  mere 
necessities  of  the  action.'  But  the  gist  of  the  invention 
lies  just  in  their  being  '  ingeniously  absurd '  in  the 
particular  way  in  which  they  are.  Nothing  but  their 
delicious  irrelevance  prevents  the  truth  from  reaching 
Leonato  in  time  ;  but — '  neighbours,  you  are  tedious,' 

7 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

and  he  hands  over  the  '  two  aspicious  persons '  who 
hold  his  daughter's  fate  in  their  hands  to  the  con- 
stable's leisurely  'excommunication.'  The  very  figure 
of  Dogberry  is  reassuring;  evil  cannot  be  rampant 
in  a  city  which  he  and  his  'most  quiet  watchmen ' 
sufficiently  protect,  nor  the  story  finally  disastrous  to 
which  he  contributes  a  link.  It  is  a  part  of  the  irony, 
grave  but  not  yet  bitter,  which  underlies  the  play, 
that  in  this  community  of  brilliantly  accomplished 
men  and  women,  it  is  not  by  dint  of  wit  but  through 
the  blind  channels  of  accident  and  unreason  that  the 
discovery  makes  its  way.  '  What  your  wisdoms,'  as 
Borachio  says,  'could  not  discover,  these  shallow 
fools  have  brought  to  light.' 

The  other  great  Shakespearean  creations  of  the 
play.  Benedick  and  Beatrice,  are  far  less  intimately 
attached  to  the  story  of  Hero.  Both  in  Twelfth 
Night  and  in  As  You  Like  It  the  heroine  of  the  story 
remains  the  heroine  of  the  play.  But  the  delicate 
girl  whose  purity  is  so  little  armed  with  wit  that  she 
helplessly  succumbs  at  the  false  charge  could  not  be  a 
sister  to  Rosalind  and  Viola.  Nor  did  women  of  her 
t5'pe,  we  may  say  with  confidence,  interest  Shake- 
speare's imagination  at  this  time  by  any  means  so 
keenly  as  the  women  of  brilliant  and  somewhat 
aggressive  charm,  womanly  to  the  core,  but  of  more 
than  masculine  agility  in  the  use  of  all  the  weapons 
of  wit.  She  is  indeed  exquisitely  drawn,  with  few 
strokes,  and  more  by  her  silence  than  by  her  speech ; 
but  hers  is  not  yet  the  breathing  and  perfumed  quiet- 
ness of  Perdita  and  Imogen.  Her  place  as  heroine 
is  taken,  confessedly  or  not,  by  the  sovran  figure  of 
Beatrice.  It  is  easy  to  see  the  gerni  of  Beatrice 
in  the  Rosaline  of  Love's  Labour  's  Lost,  as  we  may 
see  the  germ  of  Dogberry  in  Constable  Dull.  But 
Rosaline's  wit  is  mere  ingenious  word-play,    a  half- 

8 


Introduction 

mechanical  accomplishment ;  Beatrice's  is  a  play  of 
thought  upon  thought,  the  spontaneous  utterance  of  a 
briUiant  mind  steeped  in  the  hues  of  highly  individual 
character,  and  betraying  in  spite  of  her  the  impulses 
of  a  passionate  woman's  heart. 

Beatrice  creates  the  intellectual  atmosphere  in  which 
the  play  moves  ;  hence,  although  her  part  in  the  action 
is  extremely  slight  and  does  not  affect  its  issues,  she 
seems  to  be  the  centre  about  which  it  revolves.  At 
only  two  points  does  she  intervene,  actively  or  pas- 
sively, in  the  plot ;  and  these  are  points  at  which  the 
passionate  woman  in  her  subdues  the  dazzling  mocker. 
No  whit  less  helplessly  than  her  gentle  cousin  had 
fallen  a  victim  to  the  malignant  device  of  Don  John, 
Beatrice  falls  a  victim  to  its  sportive  counterpart, 
Leonato's  '  pastime '  for  securing  '  that  time  shall  not 
go  dully  with  us.'  Nothing  in  the  Comedies  is  more 
delicately  imagined  in  all  its  details  than  this  gay 
inversion  of  the  tragic  theme.  Here  two  professed 
antagonists  are  beguiled  into  love,  there  two  lovers 
are  beguiled  to  a  rupture.  Here,  as  there,  a  decep- 
tion which  has  a  basis  of  truth  ;  for  Benedick's  and 
Beatrice's  professed  antagonism  conceals  a  sympathetic 
fascination  which  a  slight  stimulus  shakes  into  love, 
and  Claudio's  professed  love  conceals  a  profound 
ignorance  of  Hero,  which  the  bare  suggestion  of 
suspicion  transforms  into  insulting  and  vindictive 
rage.  The  slanderous  tongues  do  their  work ;  and 
then  the  ardent  womanhood  of  Beatrice  alone  rises 
up  in  protest  against  the  inanities  of  '  evidence '  and 
'proof,'  at  first  half  baffled  by  grief  and  choked  by 
tears,  then  flaming  out  into  the  great  cry,  'Kill  Claudio'; 
while  the  hesitating  Benedick  gathers  energy  and  will 
under  her  spell.  For  the  rest,  the  two  plots,  sharply 
contrasted  as  they  are  in -tone  and  temper,  are  carried 
out  by  groups  of  chan-^cters  who  remain  distinct.     It 

9 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

is  significant  that  Margaret,  who  counterfeits  Hero's 
person,  is  tacitly  excluded  from  the  dainty  deceit 
of  the  garden  scene,  where  the  transparent  Hero, 
in  her  eagerness  to  h-^lp  her  cousin  to  a  good 
husband,  displays  an  else  unsuspected  artiHce  and 
eloquence. 


xo 


1 


MUCH   ADO  ABOUT   NOTHING 


ACT   I. 

Scene  I.  Before  Leonato's  house. 

Ejiter  Leonato,  Hero,  and  Beatrice,  with  a 
Messenger. 

Leon.  I  learn  in  this  letter  that  Don  Peter  of 
Arragon  comes  this  night  to  Messina. 

Mess.  He  is  very  near  by  this :  he  was  not 
three  leagues  off  when  I  left  him. 

Leon.  How  many  gentlemen  have  you  lost  in 
this  action  ? 

Mess.   But  few  of  any  sort,  and  none  of  name. 

Leon.   A  victory  is  twice  itself  when  the  achiever 
brings  home  full  numbers.      I  find  here  that  Don 
Peter  hath  bestowed  much   honour   on  a  young    lo 
Florentine  called  Claudio. 

Mess.  Much  deserved  on  his  part  and  equally 
remembered  by  Don  Pedro  :  he  hath  borne  him- 
stlf  beyond  the  promise  of  his  age,  doing,  in  the 
fiiiure  of  a  lamb,  the  feats  of  a  lion  :  he  hnth  in- 
deed better  bettered  expectation  than  you  must 
expect  of  me  to  teil  you  how. 

7.   sort,  rank. 
better  bettered,  more  surpassed. 

II 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     act  i 

Leon.  He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will 
be  very  much  glad  of  it. 

Mess.  I  have  already  delivered  him  letters,  and  20 
there   appears  much   joy  in  him ;   even  so  much 
that  joy  could    not    show    itself  modest    enough 
without  a  badge  of  bitterness. 

Leon.   Did  he  break  out  into  tears  ? 

Mess.   In  great  measure. 

Leon.  A  kind  overflow  of  kindness  :  there  are  no 
faces  truer  than  those  that  are  so  washed.  How 
much  better  is  it  to  weep  at  joy  than  to  joy  at 
weeping  ! 

Beat.    I    pray   you,   is    Signior    Mountanto    re-    30 
turned  from  the  wars  or  no  ? 

Mess.  I  know  none  of  that  name,  lady  :  there 
was  none  such  in  the  army  of  any  sort. 

Leon.  AVhat  is  he  that  you  ask  for,  niece? 

Hero.  I\Iy  cousin  means  Signior  Benedick  of 
Padua. 

Mess.  O,  he's  returned ;  and  as  pleasant  as 
ever  he  was. 

Beat.  He  set  up  his  bills  here  in  Messina  and 
challenged  Cupid  at  the  flight ;  ami  my  uncle's  40 
fool,  reading  the  challenge,  subscribed  for  Cupid, 
and  challenged  him  at  the  bird-bolt  I  pray  you, 
how  many  hath  he  killed  and  eaten  in  these  wars  ? 
But  how  many  hath  he  killed?  for  indeed  I  pro- 
mised to  eat  all  of  his  killing. 


30.     Mountanto,     or    '  Mon-      public  announcement  (a  placard 
tanto,'   an    Italian    fencing    ex-      containing  the  challenge), 
pression,   meaning   '  an  upright  40.    the /light,  a  kind  of  light 

b!o\v    or    thrust."       The    form      and  well-feathered  arrow. 
'  montant '     occurs    in     Merry  41.   subscribed,  signed. 

Wives  of  Windsor,  ii.  3.  27.  42.   bird-bolt,  a  broad,  blunt 

arrow    used    for    killing    birds 
37.  pleasant,  full  of  jests.  (contrasted  with  the  ■  flight '),  a 

39.   set  up  his  bills,  put  up  a      regular  weapon  of  the  Fool. 

12 


sc.  I      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Leon.  Faith,  niece,  you  tax  Signior  Benedick 
too  much  ;  but  he  '11  be  meet  with  you,  I  doubt  it  not. 

Mess.  He  hath  done  good  service,  lady,  in 
these  wars. 

Beat.   You    had    musty    victual,    and    he    hath    50 
holp  to  eat  it :   he  is  a  very  valiant  trencher-man  \ 
he  hath  an  excellent  stomach. 

Mess.  And  a  good  soldier  too,  lady. 

Beat.  And  a  good  soldier  to  a  lady  :  but  what 
is  he  to  a  lord  ? 

Mess.  A  lord  to  a  lord,  a  man  to  a  man  ;  stuffed 
with  all  honourable  virtues. 

Beat.  It  is  so,  indeed  ;  he  is  no  less  than  a 
stuffed  man :  but  for  the  stuffing, — well,  we  are 
all  mortal.  60 

Leon.  You  must  not,  sir,  mistake  my  niece. 
There  is  a  kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  Signior 
Benedick  and  her  :  they  never  meet  but  there 's  a 
skirmish  of  wit  between  them. 

Beat.  Alas  !  he  gets  nothing  by  that.  In  our 
last  conflict  four  of  his  five  wits  went  halting  off, 
and  now  is  the  whole  man  governed  with  one  :  so 
that  if  he  have  vrit  enough  to  keep  himself  warm, 
let  him  bear  it  for  a  difference  between  himself 
and  his  horse ;  for  it  is  all  the  wealth  that  he  hath  70 
left,  to  be  known  a  reasonable  creature.  Who  is 
his  companion  now?  He  hath  every  month  a 
new  sworn  brother. 

Mess..  Is 't  possible  ? 

Beat.   Very  easily  possible  :   he  wears  his  faith 

66.   his  five  -wits;    'the   five  69.    hear  it  for  a  difference; 

wits '  meant  sometimes  the  five  in   heraldry  a   '  difference '    was 

senses,  sometimes  the  five  mental  the   distinguishing  mark  in  the 

'faculties'     of    'common    wit,  coat-armourof  different  branches 

imagination,      fantasy,     estima-  of  the  same  family.      (Cf.  'wear 

tion,  memory.'      Beatrice  plays  your    rue    with    a    difference,' 

upon  the  latter  meaning.  Ham.  iv.  5.   183.) 

13 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     acti 

but  as  the  fashion  of  his  hat ;  it  ever  changes  with 
the  next  block. 

A/ess.  I  siic,  lady,  the  gentleman  is  not  in  your 
books. 

Beaf.    No ;   an    he    were,    I    would    burn    my    sa 
study.     But,  1  pray  you,  who  is  his  companion? 
Is  there  no  young  squarer  now  that  will  make  a 
voyage  with  him  to  the  devil  ? 

Afess.  He  is  most  in  the  company  of  the  right 
noble  Claudio. 

Beaf.  O  Lord,  he  will  hang  upon  him  Hke  a 
disease  :  he  is  sooner  caught  than  the  pestilence, 
and  the  taker  runs  presently  mad.  God  help  the 
noble  Claudio  !  if  he  have  caught  the  Benedick,  it 
will  cost  him  a  thousand  pound  ere  a'  be  cured.        90 

Jffess.   I  will  hold  friends  with  you,  lady. 

Beat   Do,  good  friend. 

Zeo/i.  You  will  never  run  mad,  niece. 

Beaf.   No,  not  till  a  hot  January. 

Mess.   Don  Pedro  is  approached. 

E^iter  Don  Pedro,  Don  John,  Claudio, 
Benedick,  and  Balthasar. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  Signior  Leonato,  you  are  come 
to  meet  your  trouble  :  the  fashion  of  the  world  is 
to  avoid  cost,  and  you  encounter  it. 

Leon.   Never  came  trouble  to  my  house  in  the 
likeness  of  your   grace :   for   trouble   being  gone,  loa 
comfort  should  remain  ;  but  when  you  depart  from 
me,  sorrow  abides  and  happiness  takes  his  leave. 

D.  Pedro.  You  embrace  your  charge  too  will- 
ingly.   "  I  think  this  is  your  daughter. 

Leon.   Her  mother  hath  many  times  told  me  so. 

TJ.  block,  shaping  model  for  hats,  'shape.' 
82.   squarer,  roysterer. 

14 


sc.  I      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Bene.  Were  you  in  doubt,  sir,  that  you  asked 
her? 

Leon.  Siguier  Benedick,  no ;  for  then  were  you 
a  child. 

D.  Pedro.   You  have  it  full,  Benedick  :  we  may  no 
guess  by  this  what  you  are,  being  a  man.     Truly, 
the  lady  fathers  herself.      Be  happy,  lady ;  for  you 
are  like  an  honourable  father. 

Bene.  If  Signior  Leonato  be  her  father,  she 
would  not  have  his  head  on  her  shoulders  for  all 
Messina,  as  like  him  as  she  is. 

Beat.  I  wonder  that  you  will  still  be  talking, 
Signior  Benedick  :  nobody  marks  you. 

Bene^  What,  my  dear  Lady  Disdain  !  are  you 
yet  livmg  ?  120 

Beat.  Is  it  possible  disdain  should  die  while 
she  hath  such  meet  food  to  feed  it  as  Signior 
Benedick?  Courtesy  itself  must  convert  to  dis- 
dain, if  you  come  in  her  presence. 

Betie.  Then  is  courtesy  a  turncoat.  But  it  is 
certain  I  am  loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted  : 
and  I  would  I  could  find  in  my  heart  that  I  had 
not  a  hard  heart ;  for,  truly,  I  love  none. 

Beat.   A  dear  happiness  to  women  :   they  would 
else  have  been  troubled  with  a  pernicious  suitor.  13a 
I  thank  God  and  my  cold  blood,  I  am  of  your 
humour  for  that :  I  had  rather  hear  my  dog  bark 
at  a  crow  than  a  man  swear  he  loves  me. 

Bene.  God  keep  your  ladyship  still  in  that 
mind  !  so  some  gentleman  or  other  shall  'scape  a 
predestinate  scratched  face. 

Beat.  Scratching  could  not  make  it  worse,  an 
'tvrere  such  a  face  as  yours  were. 

Bene.  Well,  you  are  a  rare  parrot-teacher. 

123.  convert,  be  converted. 
129.   A  dear  happiness  {to),  a  singular  good  fortune  (for). 

15 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     acti 

Beat.   A   bird  of  my   tongue  is  better  than  a  140 
beast  of  yours. 

Bene.  I  would  my  horse  had  the  speed  of  your 
tongue,  and  so  good  a  continuer.  But  keep  your 
way,  i'  God's  name ;  I  have  done. 

Beat.  You  always  end  with  a  jade's  trick  :  I 
know  you  of  old. 

D.  Pedro.  That  is  the  sum  of  all,  Leonato. 
Signior  Claudio  and  Signior  Benedick,  my  dear 
friend  Leonato  hath  invited  you  all.  I  tell  him 
we  shall  stay  here  at  the  least  a  month  ;  and  he  150 
heartily  prays  some  occasion  may  detain  us  longer. 
I  dare  swear  he  is  no  hypocrite,  but  prays  from 
his  heart.  ^ 

Leon.  If  you  swear,  my  lord,  you  shall  not  be 
forsworn.  \To  Don  John]  Let  me  bid  you  wel- 
come, my  lord  :  being  reconciled  to  the  prince 
your  brother,  I  owe  you  all  duty. 

Z>.  John.  I  thank  you :  I  am  not  of  many 
words,  but  I  thank  you. 

Leon.   Please  it  your  grace  lead  on  ?  160 

D.  Pedro.  Your  hand,  Leonato ;  we  will  go 
together. 

\Exeunt  all  except  Benedick  and  Claudio. 

Claud.  Benedick,  didst  thou  note  the  daughter 
of  Signior  Leonato  ? 

Bene.   I  noted  her  not  ;  but  I  looked  on  her. 

Claud.   Is  she  not  a  modest  young  lady? 

Bene.  Do  you  question  me,  as  an  honest  man 
should  do,  for  my  simple  true  judgement ;  or 
would  you  have  me  speak  after  my  custom,  as 
being  a  professed  tyrant  to  their  sex  ?  170 

Claud.  No ;  I  pray  thee  speak  in  sober  judge- 
ment. 

Bene.  Why,  i' faith,  methinks  she's  too  low  for 
a  high  praise,  too  brown  for  a  fair  praise,  and  too 

16 


sc.  I      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

little  for  a  great  praise  :  only  this  commendation 
I  can  afford  her,  that  were  she  other  than  she  is, 
she  were  unhandsome  ;  and  being  no  other  but  as 
she  is,  I  do  not  like  her. 

Claud.  Thou  thinkest  I  am  in  sport :  I  pray 
thee  tell  me  truly  how  thou  likest  her.  iSo 

Be72e.  Would  you  buy  her,  that  you  inquire 
after  her? 

Claud.  Can  the  world  buy  such  a  jewel  ? 

Bene.  Yea,  and  a  case  to  put  it  into.  But 
speak  you  this  with  a  sad  brow  ?  or  do  you  play 
the  flouting  Jack,  to  tell  us  Cupid  is  a  good  hare- 
finder  and  Vulcan  a  rare  carpenter?  Come,  in 
what  key  shall  a  man  take  you,  to  go  in  the  song  ? 

Claud.  In  mine  eye  she  is  the  sweetest  lady 
that  ever  I  looked  on.  190 

Bene.  I  can  see  yet  without  spectacles  and  I 
see  no  such  matter :  there 's  her  cousin,  an  she 
were  not  possessed  with  a  fury,  exceeds  her  as 
much  in  beauty  as  the  first  of  May  doth  the  last 
of  December.  But  I  hope  you  have  no  intent  to 
turn  husband,  have  you  ? 

Claud.  I  would  scarce  trust  myself,  though  I 
had  sworn  the  contrary,  if  Hero  would  be  my  wife. 

Bene.    Is 't  come  to  this?     In  faith,    hath   not 
the  world  one  man  but  he  will  wear  his  cap  with  200 
suspicion  ?     Shall  I  never  see  a  bachelor  of  three- 
score again  ?     Go  to,  i'  faith  ;   an  thou  wilt  needs 
thrust -thy  neck  into  a  yoke,  wear  the  print  of  it 

186.  to  tell  vs  Cupid  is  a  good  200.    wear  his  cap  "with  sns- 

hare-finder,   etc.,    i.e.    to  praise  picion,     (either)     incurring    the 

people,  in  mockery,  for  qualities  suspicion   that   he  has    '  horns  ' 

they  notoriously  lack  ; — Cupid  under    it,    (or)    suspecting   that 

being     blind,     and     Vulcan     a  another  has  worn    his    (night-) 

great  worker  in  metal,   not  in  cap.       The    ultimate   sense    is 

wood.  the  same. 

188.  go  in,  join  with  you  in.  203.   wear  the  print  of  it  and 

VOL.  Ill  17  C 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     act  i 

and   sigh   away  Sundays.     Look ;   Don   Pedro  is 
returned  to  seek  you. 

Re-enter  Don  Pedro. 

D.  Pedro,  ^^'hat  secret  hath  held  you  here,  that 
you  followed  not  to  Leonato's  ? 

Bene.  I  would  your  grace  would  constrain  me 
to  tell. 

D.  Pedro.   I  charge  thee  on  thy  allegiance.  210 

Be7ie.  You  hear,  Count  Claudio :  I  can  be 
secret  as  a  dumb  man  ;  I  w^ould  have  you  think 
so  ;  but,  on  my  allegiance,  mark  you  this,  on  my 
allegiance.  He  is  in  love.  With  who  ?  now  that 
is  your  grace's  part.  Mark  how  short  his  answer 
is  ; — With  Hero,  Leonato's  short  daughter. 

Claud.   If  this  were  so,  so  were  it  uttered. 

Bene.  Like  the  old  tale,  my  lord :  '  it  is  not 
so,  nor  'twas  not  so,  but,  indeed,  God  forbid  it 
should  be  so.'  "o 

Claud.  If  my  passion  change  not  shordy,  God 
forbid  it  should  be  otherwise. 

D.  Pedro.  Amen,  if  you  love  her ;  for  the  lady 
is  very  well  worthy. 

Claud.   You  speak  this  to  fetch  me  in,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.   By  my  troth,  I  speak  my  thought. 
Claud.   And,  in  faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  mine. 

stgk  atvay  Sundays.     A  modern  centurycolouringof  the  dialogue. 

Benedick    would    perhaps    say,  '  It  is  not  so,  nor  'twas  not  so, 

'Be   an    obviously    "married"  but,  indeed,  God  forbid  it  should 

man  and  a  good  church-going  be  so,'    is    Mr.    Fox's    ironical 

Philistine  ! '  comment  on  the  successive  hor- 

217.  uttered,  proclaimed.  rors   which  Lady   Mary  relates 

218.  Like  the  old  talc,  the  him  after  her  furtive  visit  to  his 
tale  of  '  Mr.  Fox,'  written  down  house.  Cf.  Jacobs'  English 
from  memory  by  Blakeway  for  Fairy  Tales. 

Malone's  edition,  and  obviously  225.   fetch  vie  in,   bring  me 

'  old '  in  spite  of  the  eighteenth-      to  a  confession. 

18 


SC.  I 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


Be7ie.  And,  by  my  two  faiths  and  troths,  my 
lord,  I  spoke  mine. 

Cljiitd.  That  I  love  her,  I  feel.  230 

D.  Pedro.   That  she  is  wort'riv,  I  know. 

Bene.  That  I  neither  feel  how  she  should  be 
loved  nor  know  how  she  should  be  worthy,  is  the 
opinion  that  fire  cannot  melt  out  of  me  :  I  will 
die  in  it  at  the  stake. 

D.  Pedro.  Thou  wast  ever  an  obstinate  heretic 
in  the  despite  of  beauty. 

Claud.  And  never  could  maintain  his  part  but 
in  the  force  of  his  will. 

Bene.  That  a  woman  conceived  me,  I  thank  240 
her  ;  that  she  brought  me  up,  I  likewise  give  her 
most  humble  thanks  :  but  that  I  will  have  a  recheat 
winded  in  my  forehead,  or  hang  my  bugle  in  an 
invisible  baldrick,  all  women  shall  pardon  me. 
Because  I  will  not  do  them  the  wrong  to  mistrust 
any,  I  will  do  myself  the  right  to  trust  none ;  and 
the  fine  is,  for  the  which  I  may  go  the  finer,  I  will 
live  a  bachelor. 

D.  Pedro.  I  shall  see  thee,  ere  I  die,  look  pale 
with  love.  250 

Bene.  With  anger,  with  sickness,  or  with  hunger, 
my  lord,  not  vrith  love :  prove  that  ever  I  lose 
more  blood  with  love  than  I  will  get  again  with 
drinking,  pick  out  mine  eyes  with  a  ballad-maker's 
pen  and  hang  me  up  at  the  door  of  a  brothel-house 
for  the  sign  of  blind  Cupid. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  if  ever  thou  dost  fall  from  this 
faith,  thou  wilt  prove  a  notable  argument. 

237.    in  the  despite  of,  in  aver-  calling  the  hounds, 
sion  from.  244.     baldrick,    the    belt    in 

242.    have  a    recheat  winded  which  the  horn  was  hung. 
in  my  forehead,  i.  e.  wear  a  horn.  247.  fine,  end. 

To  '  wind  a  recheat '  was  to  blow  258.     argument,     theme     for 

a  blast  on  the  hunting-horn  re-  discourse. 

19 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     acti 

Bene.   If  I  do,  hang  me  in  a  bottle  like  a  cat 
and  shoot  at  me ;  and  he  that  hits  me,  let  him  be  260 
clapped  on  the  shoulder,  and  called  Adam. 

D.  Pedro.   Well,  as  time  shall  try  : 
*  In  time  the  savage  bull  doth  bear  the  yoke.' 

Bene.  The  savage  bull  may;  but  if  ever  the 
sensible  Benedick  bear  it,  pluck  off  the  bull's  horns 
and  set  them  in  my  forehead  :  and  let  me  be 
vilely  painted,  and  in  such  great  letters  as  they 
write  '  Here  is  good  horse  to  hire,'  let  them  signify 
under  my  sign  '  Here  you  may  see  Benedick  the 
married  man.'  270 

Claud.  If  this  should  ever  happen,  thou  wouldst 
be  horn-mad. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  his 
quiver  in  Venice,  thou  wilt  quake  for  this  shortly. 

Bene.   I  look  for  an  earthquake  too,  then. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  you  will  temporize  with  the 
hours.  In  the  meantime,  good  Signior  Benedick, 
repair  to  Leonato's  :  commend  me  to  him  and  tell 
hini  I  will  not  fail  him  at  supper ;  for  indeed  he 
hath  made  great  preparation.  aSo 

Bene.  I  have  almost  matter  enough  in  me  for 
such  an  embassage ;  and  so  I  commit  you — 

Claud.  To  the  tuition  of  God :  From  my 
house,  if  I  had  it, — 

D.  Pedro.  The  sixth  of  July :  Your  loving 
friend,  Benedick. 

Bene.   Nay,  mock  not,  mock  not.     The  body  of 

259.  a  bottle,  probably  a  large  Trac^edy.      Kyd  himself  took  it, 

wooden  bottle  or  small  barrel.  almost    intact,    from    Watson's 

261.  Adam,  Adam  Bell  the  Passionate  CentuHe  of  Lmc. 
famous   archer  of   the    popular  272.    horn-mad,   mad    like  a 

ballads.  bull. 

263.     'In     time    the    savas;e  276.  temporise  with  the  hours, 

bull,'  etc.,  a  (slightly  inaccurate)  comply  with  the  time, 
quotation   from   Kyd's   Sj>anish  283.   tuition,  guardianship. 

20 


sc.  I      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

your  discourse  is  sometime  guarded  with  fragments, 
and  the  guards  are  but  slightly  basted  on  neither : 
ere  you  flout  old  ends  any  further,  examine  your  290 
conscience  :  and  so  I  leave  you.  [^Extf. 

Claud.   My   liege,  your   highness   now  may  do 
me  good. 

D.  Pedro.   My  love  is  thine  to  teach  :  teach  it 
but  how, 
And  thou  shalt  see  how  apt  it  is  to  learn 
Any  hard  lesson  that  may  do  thee  good. 

Claud.   Hath  Leonato  any  son,  my  lord  ? 

D.  Pedro.  No  child  but  Hero;  she's  his  only  heir 
Dost  thou  affect  her,  Claudio  ? 

Claud.  O,  my  lord, 

When  you  went  onward  on  this  ended  action, 
I  look'd  upon  her  with  a  soldier's  eye,  300 

That  liked,  but  had  a  rougher  task  in  hand 
Than  to  drive  liking  to  the  name  of  love  : 
But  now  I  am  return'd  and  that  war-thoughts 
Have  left  their  places  vacant,  in  their  rooms 
Come  thronging  soft  and  delicate  desires. 
All  prompting  me  how  fair  young  Hero  is, 
Saying,  I  liked  her  ere  I  went  to  wars. 

D.  Pedro.   Thou  wilt  be  like  a  lover  presently 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words. 
If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  cherish  it,  310 

And  I  will  break  with  her  and  with  her  father 
And  thou  shalt  have  her.     Was  't  not  to  this  end 
That  thou  began'st  to  twist  so  fine  a  story  ? 

Claud.   How  sweetly  you  do  minister  to  love. 
That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion  ! 
But  lest  my  liking  might  too  sudden  seem, 

288.  gtiarded  with  fragments,  with  scraps  and  tags  (the  quota- 
trimmed  with  scraps.  tion    from   Kyd,    and  the  stock 

289.  guards,  trimmings.  '  ending  '  of  letters,    '  From  my 

290.  flout  old  ends,  mock  me  house  '], 

21 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    acti 

I  would  have  salved  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 

D.  Pedro.  What  need  the  bridge  much  broader 
than  the  flood  ? 
The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessity. 
Look,  what  will  serve  is  fit :  'tis  once,  thou  lovest,  320 
And  I  will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy. 
I  know  we  shall  have  revelling  to-night: 
I  will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise 
And  tell  fair  Hero  I  am  Claudio, 
And  in  her  bosom  I  '11  unclasp  my  heart 
And  take  her  hearing  prisoner  with  the  force 
And  strong  encounter  of  my  amorous  tale ; 
Then  after  to  her  father  will  I  break  ; 
And  the  conclusion  is,  she  shall  be  thine. 
In  practice  let  us  -ut  it  presently.  \Exeunt.   330 


Scene  II.     A  room  in  Leonato's  house. 

Enter  Leonato  and  Antonio,  ?neeting. 

Leon.  How  now,  brother  !  Where  is  my  cousin, 
your  son  ?  hath  he  provided  this  music  ? 

Ant.  He  is  very  busy  about  it.  But,  brother, 
I  can  tell  you  strange  news  that  you  yet  dreamt 
not  of 

Leon.   Are  they  good  ? 

Ant.   As  the  event  stamps  them  :  but  they  have 
a   good    cover ;    they    show    well    outward.     The 
prince   and   Count    Claudio,    walking   in   a  thick- 
pleached  alley  in  mine  orchard,  were  thus  much  10 
overheard  by  a  man  of  mine  :  the  prince  discovered 

317.    salved,  palliated.  320.    'iis   once,    it    is    settled 

319.    The  fairest  grant  is  the  once  for  all. 
necessity,   the    most    serviceable 

gift   is   that   which   satisfies  the  9.    thick-pleached,    thicl:ly  in- 

nced.  tertwined,  of  dense  foliage. 

22 


sc.  Ill    Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

to  Claudio  that  he  loved  my  niece  your  daughter 
and  meant  to  acknowledge  it  this  night  in  a  dance ; 
and  if  he  found  her  accordant,  he  meant  to  take 
the  present  time  by  the  top  and  instantly  break 
with  you  of  it. 

Leon.  Hath  the  fellow  any  wit  that  told  you 
this? 

Ant.  A  good  sharp  fellow  :  I  will  send  for  him  ; 
and  question  him  yourself. 

Leon.  No,  no  ;  v.-e  will  hold  it  as  a  dream  till 
it  appear  itself:  but  I  will  acquaint  my  daughter 
withal,  that  she  may  be  the  better  prepared  for  an 
answer,  if  peradventure  this  be  true.  Go  you  and 
tell  her  of  it.  [Enter  attendants?^  Cousins,  you 
know  what  you  have  to  do.  O,  I  cry  you  mercy, 
friend ;  go  you  with  me,  and  I  will  use  your  skill. 
Good  cousin,  have  a  care  this  busy  time. 

\Exeunt. 


Scene  III.      The  same. 

Enter  Don  John  and  Conrade. 

Con.  What  the  good -year,  my  lord  !  why  are 
you  thus  out  of  measure  sad  ? 

D.  John.  There  is  no  measure  in  the  occa- 
sion that  breeds  ;  therefore  the  sadness  is  without 
limit. 

Con.  'You  should  hear  reason. 

Z>.  John.  And  when  I  have  heard  it,  what  bless- 
ing brings  it  ? 

14.  accordant,  agreeing.  next    words    are    addressed    to 

15.  by    the  top,   by  the  fore-      them. 

lock.  I.    What  the  good-year,  a  mild 

25.    attendants.      These  must  oath  (originally  a  corruption  of 

be  supposed   to    be    dependent  the  name  of  the  French  disease 

relatives    of    Leonato's.       The  gottjire), 

23 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     act  i 

Co7i.  If  not  a  present  remedy,  at  least  a  patient 
sufferance.  lo 

D.  John.  I  wonder  that  thou,  being,  as  thou 
sayest  thou  art,  born  under  Saturn,  goest  about 
to  apply  a  moral  medicine  to  a  mortifying  mis- 
chief. I  cannot  hide  what  I  am  :  I  must  be  sad 
when  I  have  cause  and  smile  at  no  man's  jests, 
eat  when  I  have  stomach  and  wait  for  no  man's 
leisure,  sleep  when  I  am  drowsy  and  tend  on  no 
man's  business,  laugh  when  I  am  merry  and  claw 
no  man  in  his  humour. 

Con.  Yea,  but  you  must  not  make  the  full  20 
show  of  this  till  you  may  do  it  without  control- 
ment.  You  have  of  late  stood  out  against  your 
brother,  and  he  hath  ta'en  you  newly  into  his 
grace ;  where  it  is  impossible  you  should  take  true 
root  but  by  the  fair  weather  that  you  make  your- 
self: it  is  needful  that  you  frame  the  season  for 
your  own  harvest. 

D.  John.  I  had  rather  be  a  canker  in  a  hedge 
than  a  rose  in  his  grace,  and  it  better  fits  my 
blood  to  be  disdained  of  all  than  to  fashion  a  carriage  30 
to  rob  love  from  any ;  in  this,  though  I  cannot  be 
said  to  be  a  flattering  honest  man,  it  must  not  be 
denied  but  I  am  a  plain-dealing  villain.  I  am 
trusted  with  a  muzzle  and  enfranchised  with  a 
clog ;  therefore  I  have  decreed  not  to  sing  in 
my  cage.  If  I  had  my  mouth,  I  would  bite ; 
if  I  had  my  liberty,  I  would  do  my  liking :  in  the 
meantime  let  me  be  that  I  am  and  seek  not  to 
alter  me. 

12.   born   under  Saturn,    i.e.  i8.   cla7o,  flatter, 

constitutionally         melancholy.  28.   canker,  dog-rose. 
Conrnde  niijjht  thus  be  expected 

to  share  Don  John's  '  sadness  '  3°-   ^^ood,  temperament, 

ratiier  than   lo   seek  a    '  moral  ib.   fashion    a   carriage,  put 

medicine'  for  it.  on  a  forced  demeanour. 

24 


sc.  Ill     Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Con.  Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent  ?    40 
D.  John.   I  make  all  use  of  it,  for  I  use  it  only. 
Who  comes  here  ? 


Enter  Borachio. 

What  news,  Borachio  ? 

Bora.  I  came  yonder  from  a  great  supper : 
the  prince  your  brother  is  royally  entertained  by 
Leonato ;  and  I  can  give  you  intelligence  of  an 
intended  marriage. 

D.  John.  Will  it  serve  for  any  model  to  build 
mischief  on?  What  is  he  for  a  fool  that  betroths 
himself  to  unquietness  ?  so 

Bora.   Marry,  it  is  your  brother's  right  hand. 

D.  John.  Who  ?  the  most  exquisite  Claudio  ? 

Bora.   Even  he. 

D.  John.  A  proper  squire !  And  who,  and 
who  ?  which  way  looks  he  ? 

Bora.  Marry,  on  Hero,  the  daughter  and  heir 
of  Leonato. 

D.  John.  A  very  forward  March-chick  !  How 
came  you  to  this? 

Bora.  Being  entertained  for  a  perfumer,  as  I  60 
was  smoking  a  musty  room,  comes  me  the  prince 
and  Claudio,  hand  in  hand,  in  sad  conference : 
I  whipt  me  behind  the  arras  ;  and  there  heard  it 
agreed  upon  that  the  prince  should  woo  Hero  for 
himself,  and  having  obtained  her,  give  her  to 
Count  Claudio. 

D.  John.  Come,  come,  let  us  thither  :  this  may 
prove  food  to  my  displeasure.  That  young  start- 
up hath  all  the  glory  of  my  overthrow  :  if  I  can 

54.   A  proper  se^uzre  /  a  pretty  61.   smoking  a    musty   room, 

youth(withatoucli  of  contempt).  burning  perfumes  in  it  (such  as 

60.  Being  entertained  for,  be-  juniper)  to  sweeten  the  air. 

ing  taken  into  service  as.  62.   sad,  grave. 

25 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  n 

cross   him   any   way,    I   bless   myself   every    way.    7a 
You  are  both  sure,  and  will  assist  me  ? 

Con.  To  the  death,  my  lord. 

D.  John.  Let  us  to  the  great  supper :  their 
cheer  is  the  greater  that  I  am  subdued.  Would 
the  cook  were  of  my  mind  !  Shall  we  go  prove 
wiiat  '3  to  be  done. 

Bora.   Vv'e  '11  wait  upon  your  lordship. 

\Exeunt. 


ACT  11. 

Scene  I.     A  hall  in  Leonato's  house. 

Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  Hero,  Beatrice, 
and  others. 

Leon.  Was  not  Count  John  here  at  supper  ? 

Ant.  I  saw  him  not. 

Beat.  How  tartly  that  gentleman  looks  !  I 
never  can  see  him  but  I  am  heart-burned  an  hour 
after. 

Hero.   He  is  of  a  very  melancholy  disposition. 

Beat.  He  were  an  excellent  man  that  were 
made  just  in  the  midway  between  him  and  Bene- 
dick :  the  one  is  too  like  an  image  and  says 
nothing,  and  the  other  too  like  my  lady's  eldest 
son,  evermore  tattling. 

Leo7i.  Then  half  Signior  Benedick's  tongue  in 
Count  John's  mouth,  and  half  Count  John's  melan- 
choly in  Signior  lienedick's  face, — 

Beat.  With  a  good  leg  and  a  good  foot,  uncle, 
and   money   enough   in    his    purse,   such    a   man 

10.   my  lady's  eldest  son,  a  young  heir  (in  general). 
26 


sc.  r 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


would  win  any  woman  in  the  world,  if  a'  could  get 
her  good-will. 

Leon.    By    my    troth,    niece,    thou    wilt    never 
get  thee  a  husband,  if  thou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  20 
tongue. 

Atit.   In  faith,  she  's  too  curst. 

Beat.  Too  curst  is  more  than  curst ;  I  shall 
lessen  God's  sending  that  way  ;  for  it  is  said,' God 
sends  a  curst  cow  short  horns  j '  but  to  a  cow  too 
curst  he  sends  none. 

Leon.  So,  by  being  too  curst,  God  will  send  you 
no  horns. 

Beat.    Just,    if  he   send    me   no   husband;  for 
the  which   blessing  I   am  at  him  upon  m.y  knees   30 
every  morning  and   evening.      Lord,   I  could  not 
endure  a  husband  with  a  beard  on  his  face  :    I 
had  rather  lie  in  the  woollen. 

LeG7i.  You  may  light  on  a  husband  that  hath 
no  beard. 

Beat.  What  should  I  do  with  him  ?  dress  him 
in  my  apparel  and  make  him  my  waiting-gentle- 
v.'oman  ?  He  tl^at  hath  a  beard  is  more  than  a 
youth,  and  he  that  hath  no  beard  is  less  than  a 
man  :  and  he  that  is  more  than  a  youth  is  not  for  A.a 
me,  and  he  that  is  less  than  a  man,  I  am  not  for 
him  :  therefore  I  will  even  take  sixpence  in  earnest 
of  the  bear-ward,  and  lead  his  apes  into  hell. 

Leon.  Well,  then,  go  you  into  hell? 

Beat.  -  No,  but  to  the  gate ;  and  there  will 
the  devil  meet  me,  like  an  old  cuckold,  with 
horns  on  his  head,  and  say  'Get  you  to  heaven, 
Beatrice,  get  you  to  heaven  ;  here  's  no  place  for 
you  maids  : '   so  deliver  I  up  ray  apes,  and  away 

20.  shrewd,  shrewish.  43.   hear -ward,  bear -keeper, 

33.  z';z  )"/;£?  woo//^«,  between  the      who  aiso  kept  apes.      *  To  lend 

blankets,  without  linen  sheets.        apes  to  hell, '  to  die  an  old  maid. 

27 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  n 

to   Saint   Peter  for  the   heavens ;    he   shows  me    5a 
where    the    bachelors    sit,   and    there   Hvc   we   as 
merry  as  the  day  is  long. 

Ant  [To  Hero]  ^VelI,  niece,  I  trust  you  will 
be  ruled  by  your  father. 

Beaf.  Yes,  faith ;  it  is  my  cousin's  duty  to 
make  curtsy  and  say  '  Father,  as  it  ])lease  you,' 
But  yet  for  all  that,  cousin,  let  him  be  a  hand- 
some fellow,  or  else  make  another  curtsy  and  say 
•Father,  as  it  please  me.' 

Zeon.  ^^'ell,  niece,  I  hope  to  see  you  one  day   6a 
fitted  with  a  husband. 

Beaf.  Not  till  God  make  men  of  some  other 
metal  than  earth.  Would  it  not  grieve  a  woman 
to  be  overmastered  with  a  piece  of  valiant  dust  ? 
to  make  an  account  of  her  life  to  a  clod  of  way- 
ward marl  ?  No,  uncle,  I  '11  none  :  Adam's  sons 
are  my  brethren  ;  and,  truly,  I  hold  it  a  sin  to 
match  in  my  kindred. 

Ztvn.   Daughter,   remember  what   I   told  you : 
if  the  prince  do  solicit  you  in  that  kind,  you  know    70 
your  answer. 

jBeaf.  The  fault  will  be  in  the  music,  cousin, 
if  you  be  not  wooed  in  good  time  :  if  the  prince 
be  too  important,  tell  him  there  is  measure  in 
every  thing  and  so  dance  out  the  answer.  For, 
hear  me,  Hero  :  wooing,  wedding,  and  repenting, 
is  as  a  Scotch  jig,  a  measure,  and  a  cinque  pace  : 
the  first  suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a  Scotch  jig, 
and  full  as  fantastical ;  the  wedding,  mannerly- 
modest,  as  a  measure,  full  of  state  and  ancientry ;  80 
and  then  comes  repentance  and,  with  his  bad  legs, 

74.   important,  importunate.  tj.   cinque  pace,  a  dance  of 

five  steps. 
iT).  measure,  a  slow  and  stately  80.    ancientry,    old-fashioned 

dance.  dignity. 

28 


sc.  I      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

falls  into  the  cinque  pace  faster  and  faster,  till 
he  sink  into  his  grave. 

Leon.  Cousin,  you  apprehend  passing  shrewdly. 

Beat.  I  have  a  good  eye,  uncle ;  I  can  see  a 
church  by  daylight. 

Leo7i.  The  revellers  are  entering,  brother :  make 
good  room.  [All  put  on  their  masks. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Bal- 
THASAR,  Don  John,  Borachio,  Margaret, 
Ursula,  and  others,  masked. 

D.  Pedro.  Lady,  will  you  walk  about  with  your 
friend  ?  ga 

Hero.  So  you  walk  softly  and  look  sweetly  and 
say  nothing,  I  am  yours  for  the  walk ;  and  especi- 
ally when  I  walk  away. 

D.  Pedro.  With  me  in  your  company? 

Hero.   I  may  say  so,  when  I  please. 

D.  Pedro.  And  when  please  you  to  say  so? 

Hero.  When  I  like  your  favour ;  for  God  defend 
the  lute  should  be  like  the  case ! 

D.  Pedro.  My  visor  is  Philemon's  roof;  within 
the  house  is  Jove.  loo 

Hero.  Why,  then,  your  visor  should  be 
thatched. 

D.  Pedro.  Speak  low,  if  you  speak  love, 

\JDraivi7ig  her  aside, 

Balth.  Well,  I  would  you  did  like  me. 

Marg.  So  would  not  I,  for  your  own  sake ; 
for  I  have  many  ill  qualities. 

Balth.  Which  is  one  ? 

97.  favour,  features.  known   to  Shakespeare   in    any 

ib.   defend,  forbid.  case,  through  Golding's  transla- 

99.   Philemon.     The  story  of  tion.     These  three  last  speeches 

Jupiter's  visit  to  the  cottage  of  of  Hero  and  Don  Pedro  form  a 

Philemon  and  Baucis  was  told  rhyming  couplet  in    the   metre 

in    Ovid's   Metamorphcses,    and  used  by  Golding. 

29 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  h 

Marg.   I  say  my  prayers  aloud. 

Balih.  I  love  you  the  better  :  the  hearers  may 
cry,  Amen.  no 

Marg.   God  match  me  with  a  good  dancer ! 

Balth.  Amen. 

Marg.  And  God  keep  him  out  of  my  sight 
when  the  dance  is  done  !     Answer,  clerk. 

Balth.   No  more  words  :  the  clerk  is  answered. 

Urs.  I  know  you  well  enough ;  you  are  Signior 
Antonio. 

Ant.   At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Urs.  I  know  you  by  the  waggling  of  your 
head.  120 

Ant.  To  tell  you  true,  I  counterfeit  him. 

Urs.  You  could  never  do  him  so  ill-well,  unless 
you  were  the  very  man.  Here  's  his  dry  hand  up 
and  down  :   you  are  he,  you  are  he. 

Ant.   At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Urs.  Come,  come,  do  you  think  I  do  not  know 
you  by  your  excellent  wit?  can  virtue  hide  itself? 
Go  to,  mum,  you  are  he  :  graces  will  appear,  and 
there  's  an  end. 

Beat.   Will  you  not  tell  me  who  told  you  so  ?       130 

Bene.   No,  you  shall  pardon  me. 

Beat.   Nor  will  yo- .  not  tell  me  who  you  are  ? 

Bene.   Not  now. 

Beat.  That  I  was  disdainful,  and  that  1  had 
my  good  wit  out  of  the  '  Hundred  Merry  Tales  : ' 
— well,  this  was  Signior  Benedick  that  said  so. 

Bene.   What 's  he  ? 

Beat.   I  am  sure  you  know  him  well  enough. 

Bene.  Not  I,  believe  me. 

123.   ^/rv /4an</,  a  sign  of  cool  135.  '  Hundred  Merry  Tales' 

and  temperate  blood.  a  popular  sixteenth-century  col- 

123.  a/ a«(/</aH»«,  altogether,  lection   of  humorous  anecdotes 

exactly.  (reprinted  by  Hazlitl  in  Shakt' 

125.   At  a  word,  in  a  word.  speare  Jest  Books,  1864). 

30 


sc.  I      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Beat.   Did  he  never  make  you  laugh  ?  14a 

Bene.  I  pray  you,  what  is  he  ? 

Beat.  Why,  he  is  the  prince's  jester :  a  very 
dull  fool ;  only  his  gift  is  in  devising  impossible 
slanders  :  none  but  libertines  delight  in  him  ;  and 
the  commendation  is  not  in  his  wit,  but  in  his 
villany ;  for  he  both  pleases  men  and  angers 
them,  and  then  they  laugh  at  him  and  beat  him, 
I  am  sure  he  is  in  the  fleet :  I  would  he  had 
boarded  me. 

Bene.    When   I   know  the  gentleman,   I  '11  tell  150 
him  what  you  say. 

Beat.  Do,  do:  he'll  but  break  a  comparison 
or  two  on  me ;  which,  peradventure  not  marked 
or  not  laughed  at,  strikes  him  into  melancholy; 
and  then  there  's  a  partridge  wing  saved,  for  the 
fool  will  eat  no  supper  that  night.  [A/i(stc.]  We 
must  follow  the  leaders. 

Bene.   In  every  good  thing. 

Beat.  Nay,  if  they  lead  to  any  ill,  I  will  leave 
them  at  the  next  turning.  160 

[B>anee.      Then  exeunt  all  except  Don 
John,  Borachio,  and  Claudia. 

D.  John.  Sure  my  brother  is  amorous  on  Hero 
and  hath  withdrawn  her  father  to  break  with  him 
about  it.  The  ladies  follow  her  and  but  one 
visor  remains. 

Bora.  And  that  is  Claudio  :  I  know  him  by 
his  bearing. 

D.  John.  Are  not  you  Signior  Benedick  ? 

Claud.  You  know  me  well ;  I  am  he. 

D.  John.   Signior,  you  are  very  near  my  brother 
in  his  love :    he  is  enamoured  on  Hero ;    I  pray  170 
you,  dissuade  him  from  her :   she  is  no  equal  for 

149.  boarded,  accosted. 
31 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  n 

his  birth  :    you   may  do   the  part   of  an   honest 
man  in  it. 

Claud,   How  know  you  he  loves  her  ? 

D.  John.   I  lieard  him  swear  his  affection. 

Bora.    So  did  I  too ;    and  he  swore  he  would 
marry  her  to-night. 

D.John.   Come,  let  us  to  the  banquet. 

\JLxeunt  Do7i  John  and  Borachio. 

Claud.  Thus  answer  I  in  name  of  Benedick, 
But  hear  these  ill  news  with  the  ears  of  Claudio.      i8o 
'Tis  certain  so ;  the  prince  wooes  for  himself. 
Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things 
Save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love  : 
Therefore  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues ; 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself 
And  trust  no  agent ;  for  beauty  is  a  witch 
Against  whose  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood. 
This  is  an  accident  of  hourly  proof, 
Which  I  mistrusted  not.    Farewell,  therefore,  Hero ! 

Re-enter  Benedick. 


I  go 


Bene.  Count  Claudio  ? 

Claud.   Yea,  the  same. 

Bene.   Come,  will  you  go  with  me  ? 

Claud   Whither? 

Bene.  Even  to  the  next  willow,  about  your 
own  business,  county.  What  fashion  will  you 
wear  the  garland  of?  about  your  neck,  like  an 
usurer's  chain  ?  or  under  your  arm,  like  a  lieu- 
tenant's scarf?  You  must  wear  it  one  way,  for 
the  prince  hath  got  your  Hero. 

Claud.   I  wish  him  joy  of  her.  200 

Bene.  Why,  that 's  spoken  like  an  honest  drovier : 

195.   county,  count.  chain  worn  about   the  neck  by 

197.  usurer  s chain,  \h&^o\<lQn.      rich  merchants. 

32 


sc.  I       Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

so   they  sell    bullocks.     But   did  you   think   the 
prince  would  have  served  you  thus  ? 

Claud.   I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Bene.   Ho  !  now  you  strike  like  the  blind  man  : 
'twas   the   boy  that   stole   your  meat,  and  you  '11 
beat  the  post. 

Claud.   If  it  will  not  be,  I  Ml  leave  you.      \Exit. 

Bene.  Alas,  poor  hurt  fowl !  now  will  he  creep 
into  sedges.  But  that  my  Lady  Beatrice  should  210 
know  me,  and  not  know  me  !  The  prince's  fool ! 
Ha?  It  may  be  I  go  under  that  title  because  I 
am  merry.  Yea,  but  so  I  am  apt  to  do  myself 
wrong ;  I  am  not  so  reputed :  it  is  the  base, 
though  bitter,  disposition  of  Beatrice  that  puts 
the  world  into  her  person,  and  so  gives  me  out. 
Well,  I  '11  be  revenged  as  I  may. 

Re-enter  Don  Pedro. 

D.  Pedro.  Now,    signior,   where 's   the  count? 
did  you  see  him  ? 

Bene.  Troth,  my  lord,  I  have  played  the  part  220 
of  Lady  Fame.  I  found  him  here  as  melancholy 
as  a  lodge  in  a  warren :  I  told  him,  and  I  think  I 
told  him  true,  that  your  grace  had  got  the  good 
will  of  this  young  lady ;  and  I  offered  him  my 
company  to  a  willow-tree,  either  to  make  him  a 
garland,  as  being  forsaken,  or  to  bind  him  up  a 
rod,  as  being  worthy  to  be  whipped. 

D.  Pedro.  To  be  whipped  !     What 's  his  fault  ? 

Bene.    The  flat   transgression  of  a   school-boy, 
who,  being  overjoyed  with  finding  a  birds'  nest,  230 
shows  it  his  companion,  and  he  steals  it. 

D.   Pedro.    Wilt    thou  make   a  trust  a   trans- 
gression ?     The  transgression  is  in  the  stealer. 

222.  a  lodge,  a  solitary  (watchman's  or  gamekeeper's)  cottage. 
229.  flat,  stupid. 

VOL.  Ill  33  D 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     act  n 

Betie.  Yet  it  had  not  been  amiss  the  rod  had 
been  made,  and  the  garland  too  ;  for  the  garland 
he  might  have  worn  himself,  and  the  rod  he 
might  have  bestowed  on  you,  who,  as  I  take  it, 
have  stolen  his  birds'  nest. 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  but  teach  them  to  sing,  and 
restore  them  to  the  owner.  240 

Bene.  If  their  singing  answer  your  saying,  by 
my  faith,  you  say  honesil}'. 

D.  Pedro.  The  Lady  Beatrice  hath  a  quarrel 
to  you  :  the  gentleman  that  danced  with  her  told 
her  she  is  much  wronged  by  you. 

Bene.  O,  she  misused  me  past  the  endurance 
of  a  block  !  an  oak  but  with  one  green  leaf  on  it 
would  have  answered  her ;  my  very  visor  began 
to  assume  life  and  scold  with  her.  She  told  me, 
not  thinking  I  had  been  myself,  that  I  was  the  250 
prince's  jester,  that  I  was  duller  than  a  great 
thaw ;  huddling  jest  upon  jest  with  such  impos- 
sible conveyance  upon  me  that  I  stood  like  a 
man  at  a  mark,  with  a  whole  army  shooting  at 
me.  She  speaks  poniards,  and  every  word  stabs  : 
if  her  breath  were  as  terrible  as  her  terminations, 
there  were  no  living  near  her ;  she  would  infect 
to  the  north  star.  I  would  not  marry  her,  though 
she  were  endowed  with  all  that  Adam  had  left 
him  before  he  transgressed  :  she  would  have  made  260 
Hercules  have  turned  spit,  yea,  and  have  cleft  his 
club  to  make  the  fire  too.  Come,  talk  not  of  her  : 
you  shall  find  her  the  infernal  Ate  in  gooil  api)arLl. 
I  would  to  God  some  scholar  would  conjure  her ; 
for  certainly,  while  she  is  here,  a  man  may  live 
as  quiet  in  hell  as  in  a  sanctuary ;  and  people  sin 

252.     impossible    conveyance,  256.   terminations,  terms, 

incredible    dexterity    (with    the  263.     Ate,    the    goddess    ot 

suggestion  of  juggling).  Vengeance  and  Discord. 

34 


SC.  I 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


upon  purpose,  because  they  would  go  thither ;  so, 
indeed,  all  disquiet,  horror  and  perturbation  follows 
her. 

D.  Pedro.   Look,  here  she  comes.  270 

Re-enter  Claudio,  Beatrice,  Hero, 

and  Leonato. 

Bene.  Will  your  grace  command  me  any  service 
to  the  world's  end?  I  will  go  on  the  slightest 
errand  now  to  the  Antipodes  that  you  can  devise 
to  send  me  on ;  I  will  fetch  you  a  tooth-picker 
now  from  the  furthest  inch  of  Asia,  bring  you 
the  length  of  Prester  John's  foot,  fetch  you  a 
hair  off  the  great  Cham's  1  eard,  do  you  any  em- 
bassage to  the  Pigmies,  rather  than  hold  three 
words'  conference  with  this  harpy.  You  have  no 
employment  for  me?  280 

D.  Pedro.  None,  but  to  desire  your  good  com- 
pany. 

Bene.  O  God,  sir,  here 's  a  dish  I  love  not : 
I  cannot  endure  my  Lady  Tongue.  \Ex!t. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  lady,  come ;  you  have  lost 
the  heart  of  Signior  Benedick. 

Beat.   Indeed,  my  lord,  he  lent  it  me  awhile  ; 
and  I  gave  him  use  for  it,  a  double  heart  for  his 
single  one  :    marry,  once  before  he  won  it  of  me 
with  false  dice,  therefore  your  grace  may  well  say  250 
I  have  lost  it. 

D.  Pedro.  You  have  put  him  down,  lady,  you 
have  put  him  down. 

Beat.  So  I  would  not  he  should  do  me,  my 
lord,  lest  I  should  prove  the  mother  of  fools.      I 

276.   Prester  John,  the  fabu-  277.     Cham,    the    Khan  -of 

lous  Eastern  despot  described  in      Tartary. 
Maundeville.  288.   use,  interest. 

35 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     act  n 

have  brought  Count  Claudio,  whom  you  sent  me 
to  seek. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  how  now,  count !  wherefore 
are  you  sad  ? 

Claud.   Not  sad,  my  lord.  300 

D.  Pedro.   How  then  ?  sick  ? 

Claud.   Neither,  my  lord. 

Beat.  The  count  is  neither  sad,  nor  sick,  nor 
merry,  nor  well ;  but  civil  count,  civil  as  an 
orange,  and  something  of  that  jealous  com- 
plexion. 

D.  Pedro.  I'  faith,  lady,  I  think  your  blazon  to 
be  true  ;  though,  I  '11  be  sworn,  if  he  be  so,  his 
conceit  is  false.  Here,  Claudio,  I  have  wooed  in 
thy  name,  and  fair  Hero  is  won :  I  have  broke  310 
with  her  father,  and  his  good  will  obtained  :  name 
the  day  of  marriage,  and  God  give  thee  joy  ! 

Leon.  Count,  take  of  me  my  daughter,  and 
with  her  my  fortunes :  his  grace  hath  made  the 
match,  and  all  grace  say  Amen  to  it. 

Beat.   Speak,  count,  'tis  your  cue. 

Claud.  Silence  is  the  perfectest  herald  of  joy: 
I  were  but  little  happy,  if  I  could  say  how  much. 
Lady,  as  you  are  mine,  I  am  yours :  I  give  away 
myself  for  you  and  dote  upon  the  exchange.  320 

Beat.  Speak,  cousin ;  or,  if  you  cannot,  stop 
his  mouth  with  a  kiss,  and  let  not  him  speak 
neither. 

D.  Pedro.  In  faith,  lady,  you  have  a  merry 
heart. 

Beat.  Yea,  my  lord  ;  I  thank  it,  poor  fool,  it 
keeps  on  the  windy  side  of  care.  My  cousin 
tells  him  in  his  ear  that  he  is  in  her  heart. 

304.   civil  as  an  orange  (with      the  state  of  affairs), 
a  play  upon  Seville).  310.     broke,     broached     the 

309.    conceit,   conception   (of     matter. 

36 


I 


SC.  I 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


Claud.  And  so  she  doth,  cousin. 

Beat.  Good    Lord,    for    alliance  !     Thus    goes  330 
every   one   to  the   world   but   I,  and    I   am  sun- 
burnt :  I  may  sit  in  a  corner  and   cry  heigh-ho 
for  a  husband ! 

D.  Pedro.   Lady  Beatrice,  I  will  get  you  one. 

Beat.  I  would  rather  have  one  of  your  father's 
getting.  Hath  your  grace  ne'er  a  brother  like 
you?  Your  father  got  excellent  husbands,  if  a 
maid  could  come  by  them. 

D.  Pedro.   Will  you  have  me,  lady  ? 

Beat.   No,  my   lord,  unless   I   might   have  an-  340 
other  for  working-days  :  your  grace  is  too  costly 
to  wear  every  day.      But,  I  beseech  your  grace, 
pardon  me  :  I  was  born  to  speak  all  mirth  and  no 
matter. 

D.  Pedro.  Your  silence  most  offends  me,  and  to 
be  merry  best  becomes  you  ;  for,  out  of  question, 
you  were  born  in  a  merry  hour. 

Beat.  No,  sure,  my  lord,  my  mother  cried ; 
but  then  tnere  was  a  star  danced,  and  under  that 
was  I  born.      Cousins,  God  give  you  joy  !  350 

Leon.  Niece,  will  you  look  to  those  things  I 
told  you  of? 

Beat.  I  cry  you  mercy,  uncle.  By  your  grace's 
pardon.  \Exit. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  a  pleasant -spirited 
lady. 

Leon.  There  's  little  of  the  melancholy  element 
in  her,  my  lord  :  she  is  never  sad  but  when  she 
sleeps,  and  not  ever  sad  then  ;  for  I  have  heard 
my    daughter    say,    she    hath    often    dreamed    of  360 
unhappiness  and  waked  herself  with  laughing. 

330.  alliance,  marriage.  359.  not  ever,  not  always, 

ib.  goes    to    the    world,    is 
married.  361.   unhappiness,  mischief. 

37 


/I  *^on:Q^ 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     act  h 

D.  Pedro.  She  cannot  endure  to  hear  tell  of  a 
husband. 

Leon.  O,  by  no  means :  she  mocks  all  her 
wooers  out  of  suit. 

D.  Pedro.  She  were  an  excellent  wife  for 
Benedick. 

Leon.  O  Lord,  my  lord,  if  they  were  but  a 
week  married,  they  would  talk  themselves  mad. 

D.  Pedro.   County  Claudio,  when  mean  you  to  370 
go  to  church  ? 

Claud.  To-morrow,  my  lord :  time  goes  on 
crutches  till  love  have  all  his  rites. 

Leon.  Not  till  Monday,  my  dear  son,  which  is 
hence  a  just  seven-night ;  and  a  time  too  brief, 
too,  to  have  all  things  answer  my  mind. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  you  shake  the  head  at  so 
long  a  breathing :  but,  I  warrant  thee,  Claudio, 
the  time  shall  not  go  dully  by  us.  I  will  in  the 
interim  undertake  one  of  Hercules'  labours ;  380 
which  is,  to  bring  Signior  Benedick  and  the  Lady 
Beatrice  into  a  mountain  of  affection  the  one 
with  tlie  other.  I  would  fain  have  it  a  match, 
and  I  doubt  not  but  to  fashion  it,  if  you  three 
will  but  minister  such  assistance  as  I  shall  give 
you  direction. 

Leon.  My  lord,  I  am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me 
ten  nights'  watchings, 

Claud.  And  I,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  And  you  too,  gentle  Hero  ? 

LLero.   I  will  do  any  modest   ofifice,  my  lord,  to  390 
help  my  cousin  to  a  good  husband. 

D.  Pedro.  And  Benedick  is  not  the  unhope- 
fullest  husband  that  I  know.  Thus  far  can  I 
praise  him  ;  he  is  of  a  noble  strain,  of  approved 
valour  and  confirmed  honesty.  I  will  teach  you 
how  to  iiumour  your  cousin,  that  she  shall  fall  in 

38 


sc.  II      Much  Ado  About  Nothine 


o 


love  with  Benedick ;  and  I,  with  your  two  helps, 
will  so  practise  on  Benedick  that,  in  despite  of  his 
quick  wit  and  his  queasy  stomach,  he  shall  fall  in 
love  with  Beatrice.  If  we  can  do  this,  Cupid  is  400 
no  longer  an  archer :  his  glory  shall  be  ours,  for 
we  are  the  only  love-gods.  Go  in  with  me,  and 
I  will  tell  you  my  drift.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  II.     The  same. 

Enter  Don  John  and  Borachio. 

D.  John.  It  is  so ;  the  Count  Claudio  shall 
marry  the  daughter  of  Leonato. 

Bora.  Yea,  my  lord  ;  but  I  can  cross  it. 

D.John.  Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  impediment 
will  be  medicinable  to  me :  I  am  sick  in  dis- 
pleasure to  him,  and  whatsoever  comes  athwart 
his  affection  ranges  evenly  with  mine.  How 
canst  thou  cross  this  marriage? 

Bora.  Not  honestly,  my  lord  ;  but  so  covertly 
that  no  dishonesty  shall  appear  in  me. 

D.  John.  Show  me  briefly  how. 

Bora.  I  think  I  told  your  lordship  a  3'ear  since, 
how  much  I  am  in  the  favour  of  Margaret,  the 
waiting  gentlewoman  to  Hero. 

D.  John.   I  remember. 

Bora.  I  can,  at  any  unseasonable  instant  of 
the  night, "appoint  her  to  look  out  at  her  lady's 
chamber-window. 

D.  John.  "What  life  is  in  that,  to  be  the  death 
of  this  marriage  ? 

Bora.  The  ])oison  of  that  lies  in  you  to  temper. 
Go  you  to  the  prince  your  brother ;  sj)are  not  to 

399.  queasy  stomach,  fastidi-  403.    drift,  plan. 

ous  taste.  21.   to  temper,  to  mix. 

39 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  n 

tell  him  that  he  hath  wronged  his  honour  in 
marrying  the  renowned  Claudio — whose  estimation 
do  you  mightily  hold  up — to  a  contaminated  stale, 
such  a  one  as  Hero. 

D.  John.   What  proof  shall  I  make  of  that  ? 

Bora.  Proof  enough  to  misuse  the  prince,  to 
vex  Claudio,  to  undo  Hero,  and  kill  Leonato. 
Look  you  for  any  other  issue  ?  30 

D.  John.  Only  to  despite  them,  I  will  endea- 
vour any  thing. 

Bora.  Go,  then ;  find  me  a  meet  hour  to  draw 
Don  Pedro  and  the  Count  Claudio  alone  :  tell 
them  that  you  know  that  Hero  loves  me  ;  intend 
a  kind  of  zeal  both  to  the  prince  and  Claudio,  as, 
— in  love  of  your  brother's  honour,  who  hath 
made  this  match,  and  his  friend's  reputation,  who 
is  thus  like  to  be  cozened  with  the  semblance  of 
a  maid, — that  you  have  discovered  thus.  They  40 
will  scarcely  believe  this  without  trial :  offer  them 
instances ;  which  shall  bear  no  less  likelihood 
than  to  see  me  at  her  chamber-window,  hear  me 
call  Margaret  Hero,  hear  Margaret  term  me 
Claudio ;  and  bring  them  to  see  this  the  very 
night  before  the  intended  wedding, — for  in  the 
meantime  I  will  so  fashion  the  matter  that  Hero 
shall  be  absent, — and  there  shall  appear  such 
seeming  truth  of  Hero's  disloyalty  that  jealousy 
shall  be  called  assurance  and  all  the  preparation  50 
overthrown. 

D.John.  Grow   this    to   what  adverse   issue   it 

25.   stale,  strumpet.  Claudio   as   the  apparent  lover 

44.  hear  Margaret  term   me  of  Hero  ;   on   the   other   liaiid, 

Claudio.      This   is  at  first  sight  he  might  well  assume  Claudio's 

puzzling,  and  some  editors  have  name,  which  would  disguise  his 

substituted     '  Borachio  '  ;      but  identity  without  making  the  real 

Boracliio  cannot  have  meant  to  Claudio  less  confident  of  Hero's 

betray  himself  to  the  prince  and  guilt. 

40       . 


sc.  Ill     Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

can,  I  will  put  it  in  practice.  Be  cunning  in  the 
working  this,  and  thy  fee  is  a  thousand  ducats. 

Bora.  Be  you  constant  in  the  accusation,  and 
my  cunning  shall  not  shame  me. 

D.John.  I  will  presently  go  learn  their  day  of 
marriage.  \_Exeunt. 


Scene  III.     Leonato's  orchard. 

Enter  Benedick. 

Bene.  Boy ! 

Enter  Boy. 

Boy.  Signior? 

Bene.   In    my    chamber-window    lies    a    book: 
bring  it  hither  to  me  in  the  orchard. 

Boy.   I  am  here  already,  sir. 

Bene.  I  know  that ;  but  I  would  have  thee 
hence,  and  here  again.  [Exit  Boy.]  I  do  much 
wonder  that  one  man,  seeing  how  much  another 
man  is  a  fool  when  he  dedicates  his  behaviours  to 
love,  will,  after  he  hath  laughed  at  such  shallow  k 
follies  in  others,  become  the  argument  of  his  own 
scorn  by  falling  in  love :  and  such  a  man  is 
Claudio.  I  have  known  when  there  was  no 
music  with  him  but  the  drum  and  the  fife ;  and 
now  had  he  rather  hear  the  tabor  and  the  pipe : 
I  have  known  when  he  would  have  walked  ten 
mile  a-foot,  to  see  a  good  armour  ;  and  now  will 
he  lie  ten  nights  awake,  carving  the  fashion  of  a 
new  doublet.  He  was  wont  to  speak  plain  and 
to  the  purpose,  like  an  honest  man  and  a  soldier;  20 
and  now  is  he  turned  orthography ;  his  words  are 
a  very  fantastical  banquet,  just  so  many  strange 
dishes.     May   I    be   so   converted  and    see   with 

II.   argume7it,  theme.  21.     orthography,      orthogra- 

18.  carving,  devising.  pher,  '  euphuist." 

41 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  a 

these  eyes  ?  I  cannot  tell ;  I  think  not :  I  will  not 
be  sworn  but  love  may  transform  me  to  an  oyster ; 
but  I  '11  take  my  oath  on  it,  till  he  have  made  an 
oyster  of  me,  he  shall  never  make  me  such  a  fool. 
One  woman  is  fair,  yet  I  am  well ;  another  is  wise, 
yet  I  am  well ;  another  virtuous,  yet  I  am  well ; 
but  till  all  graces  be  in  one  woman,  one  v/oman  30 
shall  not  come  in  my  grace.  Rich  she  shall  be, 
that 's  certain  ;  wise,  or  I  '11  none  ;  virtuous,  or  I  '11 
never  cheapen  her ;  fair,  or  I  '11  never  look  on 
her ;  mild,  or  come  not  near  me ;  noble,  or  not  I 
for  an  angel ;  of  good  discourse,  an  excellent 
musician,  and  her  hair  shall  be  of  what  colour  it 
please  God.  Ha  !  the  prince  and  Monsieur  Love  ! 
I  will  hide  me  in  the  arbour.  \_lVithdra'ws. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.   Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music? 

Clajid.  Yea,    my    good    lord.      How    still    the 
evening  is,  40 

As  hush'd  on  purpose  to  grace  harmony  ! 

D.  Pedro.  See  you  where   Benedick  hath   hid 
himself? 

Claud.   O,  very  well,  my  lord  :  the  music  ended, 
We'll  fit  the  kid-fox  with  a  pennyworth. 

Enter  Balthasar  tvith  Music. 

D.  Pedro.    Come,   Balthasar,    we  '11    hear   that 

song  again. 
Balth.  O,  good  my  lord,  tax  not  so  bad  a  vo'ce 
To  slander  music  any  more  than  once. 

D.  Pedro.  It  is  the  witness  still  of  excellency 
To  put  a  strange  face  on  his  own  perfection. 
I  pray  thee,  sing,  and  let  me  woo  no  more.  50 

45.  kid-fox,  young  fox. 
42 


sc.  Ill     Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Balth.  Because  you  talk  of  wooing,  I  will  sing ; 
Since  many  a  wooer  doth  commence  his  suit 
To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy,  yet  he  wooes, 
Yet  will  he  swear  he  loves. 

D.  Pedro.  Now,  pray  thee,  come ; 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument, 
Do  it  in  notes. 

Balth.  Note  this  before  my  notes  ; 

There  's  not  a  note  of  mine  that 's  worth  the  noting, 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  tliese  are   very  crotchets  that 
he  speaks ; 
Note,  notes,  forsooth,  and  nothing.  \Air. 

Bene.   Now,  divine  air!  now  is  his  soul  ravished!    60 
Is  it  not  strange  that  sheep's  guts  should  hale  souls 
out  of  men's  bodies  ?    Well,  a  horn  for  my  money, 
when  all 's  done. 

The  Song. 

Balth.  Sigh  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more, 

Men  were  deceivers  ever, 
One  foot  in  sea  and  one  on  shore, 

To  one  thing  constant  never  : 
Then  sigh  not  so,  but  let  them  go, 

And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny. 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe  70 

Into  Hey  nonny,  nonny. 

Sing  no  more  ditties,  sing  no  moe, 
.    Of  dumps  so  dull  and  heavy ; 
The  fraud  of  men  was  ever  so, 
Since  summer  first  was  leavy : 
Then  sigh  not  so,  etc. 

D.  Pedro.   By  my  troth,  a  good  song. 

58.  crotchets,  whimsies  (with  71.    Hey  nonny,    nonny,    the 
a  quibble).                                           refrain  of  various  (mostly  light 

59.  nothing;  a  pun  is  intended      and  sportive)  songs. 

on  '  nofing. '  'j'l^.   dumps,  melancholy. 

43 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     acth 

Balth.  And  an  ill  singer,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Ha,  no,  no,  faith ;  thou  singest  well 
enough  for  a  shift.  80 

Boie.  An  he  had  been  a  dog  that  should  have 
howled  thus,  they  would  have  hanged  him  :  and 
I  pray  God  his  bad  voice  bode  no  mischief.  I 
had  as  lief  have  heard  the  night-raven,  come  what 
plague  could  have  come  after  it. 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  marry,  dost  thou  hear,  Bal- 
thasar  ?  I  pray  thee,  get  us  some  excellent  music  ; 
for  to-morrow  night  we  would  have  it  at  the  Lady 
Hero's  chamber-window. 

Balth.  The  best  I  can,  my  lord.  90 

D.  Pedro.  Do  so  :  farewell.  \Exit  Baithasar.'] 
Come  hither,  Leonato.  What  was  it  you  told 
me  of  to-day,  that  your  niece  Beatrice  was  in  love 
with  Signior  Benedick? 

Claud.  O,  ay :  stalk  on,  stalk  on ;  the  fowl 
sits.  I  did  never  think  that  lady  would  have 
loved  any  man. 

Leon.  No,  nor  I  neither ;  but  most  wonderful 
that  she  should  so  dote  on  Signior  Benedick,  whom 
she  hath  in  all  outward  behaviours  seemed  even  to  100 
abhor. 

Bene.  Is 't  possible  ?  Sits  the  wind  in  that 
corner? 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  my  lord,  I  cannot  tell  what 
to  think  of  it  but  that  she  loves  him  with  an 
enraged  affection  :  it  is  past  the  infinite  of  thought. 

D.  Pedro.   May  be  she  doth  but  counterfeit. 

Claud.  Faith,  like  enough. 

Leon.   O   God,  counterfeit !     There  was  never 
counterfeit   of  passion   came  so  near   tlie   life  of  no 
passion  as  she  discovers  it. 

84.     the   night-raven,    whose  106.        infinite,       infinitude, 

cry  was  bodefuL  boundless  reach. 

44 


sc.  Ill      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

D.  Fedro.  Why,  what  effects  of  passion  shows 
she? 

Claud.  Bait  the  hook  well ;  this  fish  will  bite. 

Leo?t.  What  effects,  my  lord  ?  She  will  sit 
you,  you  heard  my  daughter  tell  you  how. 

Claud.   She  did,  indeed. 

D.  Fedro.  How,  how,  I  pray  you  ?  You  amaze 
me  :  I  would  have  thought  her  spirit  had  been 
invincible  against  all  assaults  of  affection. 

Leon.  I  would  have  sworn  it  had,  my  lord ; 
especially  against  Benedick. 

Bene.  I  should  think  this  a  gull,  but  that  the 
white-bearded  fellow  speaks  it :  knavery  cannot, 
sure,  hide  himself  in  such  reverence. 

Claud.   He  hath  ta'en  the  infection  :  hold  it  up. 

D.  Fedro.  Hath  she  made  her  affection  known 
to  Benedick  ? 

Leon.  No ;  and  swears  she  never  will :  that 's 
her  torment. 

Claud,  "ris  true,  indeed ;  so  your  daughter 
says:  'Shall  I,'  says  she,  'that  have  so  oft  en- 
countered him  with  scorn,  write  to  him  that  I 
love  him  ? ' 

Leon.  This  says  she  now  when  she  is  begin- 
ning to  write  to  him  ;  for  she  '11  be  up  twenty  times 
a  night,  and  there  will  she  sit  in  her  smock  till 
she  have  writ  a  sheet  of  paper :  my  daughter  tells 
us  all. 

Claud.   Now   you  talk  of  a   sheet  of  paper,   I  140 
remember  a  pretty  jest  your  daughter  told  us  of. 

Leon.  O,  when  she  had  writ  it  and  was  reading 
it  over,  she  found  Benedick  and  Beatrice  between 
the  sheet? 

Claud.  That. 

Ixon.  O,  she  tore  the  letter  into  a  thousand 

123.  gull,  trick. 

45 


130 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     act  u 

halfpence ;  railed  at  herself,  that  she  should  be  so 
immodest  to  write  to  one  that  she  knew  would  flout 
her ;  '  I  measure  him,'  says  she,  '  by  my  own  spirit ; 
for   I   should   flout   him,  if  he  writ  to  me ;   yea,  150 
though  I  love  him,  I  should.' 

Claud.  Then  down  upon  her  knees  she  falls, 
weeps,  sobs,  beats  her  heart,  tears  her  hair,  prays, 
curses ;  '  O  sweet  Benedick  !  God  give  me 
patience  ! ' 

Leon.  She  doth  indeed  \  my  daughter  says  so : 
and  the  ecstasy  hath  so  much  overborne  her  that 
my  daughter  is  sometime  afeard  she  will  do  a 
des]:ierate  outrage  to  herself:  it  is  very  true. 

D.  Pedro.   It  were  good  that  Benedick  knew  of  160 
it  by  some  other,  if  she  will  not  discover  it. 

Claud.  To  what  end  }  He  would  make  but  a 
sport  of  it  and  torment  the  poor  lady  worse. 

D.  Pedro.  An  he  should,  it  were  an  alms  to 
hang  him.  She 's  an  excellent  sweet  lady ;  and, 
out  of  all  suspicion,  she  is  virtuous. 

Claud.   And  she  is  exceeding  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  In  every  thing  but  in  loving  Bene- 
dick. 

Leon.    O,   my   lord,   wisdom   and    blood    com-  170 
bating  in  so  tender  a  body,  we  have  ten  proofs  to 
one  that  blood  hath  the  victory.      I  am  sorry  for 
her,  as  I  have  just  cause,  being  her  uncle  and  her 
guardian. 

D.  Pedro.  I  would  she  had  bestowed  this  dot- 
age on  me  :  I  would  have  daffed  all  other  respects 
and  made  her  half  myself.  I  pray  you,  tell  Bene- 
dick of  it,  and  hear  what  a'  will  say. 

Leon.   Were  it  good,  think  you? 

Claud.    Hero   thinks   surely   she   will    die  ;    for  tSa 
she  .says  she  will  die,  if  he  love  her  not,  and  she 

157.   ecstasy,  madness.  176.   doffed,  doffed,  set  aside. 

46 


sc.  Ill     Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

will  die,  ere  she  make  her  love  known,  and  she 
will  die,  if  he  woo  her,  rather  than  she  will  bate 
one  breath  of  her  accustomed  crossness. 

D.  Pedro.  She  doth  well :  if  she  should  make 
tender  of  her  love,  'tis  very  possible  he  '11  scorn  it  \ 
for  the  man,  as  you  know  all,  hath  a  contemptible 
spirit. 

Claud.   He  is  a  very  proper  man. 

D.  Pedro.    He    hath   indeed  a  good  outward  190 
happiness. 

Claud.  Before  God  !  and,  in  my  mind,  very  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  He  doth  indeed  show  some  sparks 
that  are  like  wit. 

Claud.   And  I  take  him  to  be  valiant. 

D.  Pedro.  As  Hector,  I  assure  you  :  and  in 
the  managing  of  quarrels  you  may  say  he  is  wise ; 
for  either  he  avoids  them  with  great  discretion, 
or  undertakes  them  with  a  most  Christian -Hke 
tear.  zoo 

Leon.  If  he  do  fear  God,  a'  must  necessarily 
keep  peace  :  if  he  break  the  peace,  he  ought  to 
enter  into  a  quarrel  with  fear  and  trembling. 

D.  Pedro.  And  so  will  he  do  ;  for  the  man  doth 
fear  God,  howsoever  it  seems  not  in  him  by  some 
large  jests  he  will  make.  Well,  I  am  sorry  for 
your  niece.  Shall  we  go  seek  Benedick,  and  tell 
him  of  her  love? 

Claud.  Never  tell  him,  my  lord :  let  her  wear 
it  out  with  good  counsel. 

Leo?i.  Nay,  that 's  impossible  :  she  may  wear 
her  heart  out  first.  210 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  we  will  hear  further  of  it 
by  your  daughter  :  let  it  cool  the  while.     I  love 

185.   make  tender  of,  offer.  attractive  form  and  features. 

187.   contemptible,  zcorni\x\.  206.   large,  'broad.' 

190.  good  outward  happiness,  209.   wear  it  out,  efface  it. 

47 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     acth 

Benedick  well;  and  I  could  wish  he  would  modestly 
examine  himself,  to  see  how  much  he  is  unworthy 
so  good  a  lady. 

Leo7i.   My  lord,  will  you  walk  ?  dinner  is  ready. 

Claud.  If  he  do  not  dote  on  her  upon  this,  I 
will  never  trust  my  expectation.  220 

D.  Pedro.  Let  there  be  the  same  net  spread 
for  her ;  and  that  must  your  daughter  and  her 
gentlewomen  carry.  The  sport  will  be,  when 
they  hold  one  an  opinion  of  another's  dotage, 
and  no  such  matter  :  that 's  the  scene  that  I  would 
see,  which  will  be  merely  a  dumb-show.  Let  us 
send  her  to  call  him  in  to  dinner. 

\Exeu7it  Don  Pedro,  C /audio,  and  Leonato. 

Bene.  \Coming  forward']  This  can  be  no 
trick :  the  conference  was  sadly  borne.  They 
have  the  truth  of  this  from  Hero.  They  seem  to  230 
pity  the  lady  :  it  seems  her  affections  have  their 
full  bent.  Love  me  !  why,  it  must  be  requited. 
I  hear  how  I  am  censured  :  they  say  I  will  bear 
myself  proudly,  if  I  perceive  the  love  come  from 
her ;  they  say  too  that  she  will  rather  die  than 
give  any  sign  of  affection.  I  did  never  think  to 
marry  :  I  must  not  seem  proud  :  happy  are  they 
that  hear  their  detractions  and  can  put  them  to 
mending.  They  say  the  lady  is  fair ;  'tis  a  truth, 
I  can  bear  them  witness  ;  and  virtuous  ;  'tis  so,  I  240 
cannot  reprove  it ;  and  wise,  but  for  loving  me ; 
by  my  troth,  it  is  no  addition  to  her  wit,  nor  no 
great  argument  of  her  folly,  for  I  will  be  horribly 
in  love  with  her.  I  may  chance  have  some  odd 
quirks  and  remnants  of  wit  broken  on  me,  because 
I  have  railed  so  long  against  marriage  :  but  doth 
not  the  appetite  alter  ?  a  man  loves  the  meat  in 

229.   sadly  borne,  conducted  with  gravity. 
245.   quirks,  jests. 

48 


sc.  Ill     Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

his  youth  that  he  cannot  endure  in  his  age.  Shall 
quips  and  sentences  and  these  paper  bullets  of  the 
brain  awe  a  man  from  the  career  of  his  humour  ?  250 
No,  the  world  must  be  peopled.  When  I  said  I 
would  die  a  bachelor,  I  did  not  think  I  should 
live  till  I  were  married.  Here  comes  Beatrice. 
By  this  day  !  she 's  a  fair  lady  :  I  do  spy  some 
marks  of  love  in  her. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Beat.  Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid  you 
come  in  to  dinner. 

Bene.   Fair  Beatrice,  I  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

Beat.   I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks 
than  you  take  pains  to  thank  me  :  if  it  had  been  260 
painful,  I  would  not  have  come. 

Bene.   You  take  pleasure  then  in  the  message  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  just  so  much  as  you  may  take 
upon  a  knife's  point  and  choke  a  daw  withal. 
You  have  no  stomach,  signior :  fare  you  well. 

[Exit. 

Bene.  Ha  !  '  Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid 
you  come  in  to  dinner  ; '  there 's  a  double  meaning 
in  that.  '  I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks 
than  you  took  pains  to  thank  me ; '  that 's  as 
much  as  to  say.  Any  pains  that  I  take  for  you  is  270 
as  easy  as  thanks.  If  I  do  not  take  pity  of  her,  I 
am  a  villain ;  if  I  do  not  love  her,  I  am  a  Jew.  I 
will  go  get  her  picture.  \Exit. 


VOL.  Ill  49 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  m 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I.     Leonato's  garden. 

Enter  Hero,  jSIargaret,  and  Ursula. 

Hero.   Good  Margaret,  run  thee  to  the  parlour; 
There  shalt  thou  find  my  cousin  Beatrice 
Proposing  with  the  prince  and  Claudio : 
Whisper  her  ear  and  tell  her,  I  and  Ursula 
Walk  in  the  orchard  and  our  whole  discourse 
Is  all  of  her ;  say  that  thou  overheard'st  us ; 
And  bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower, 
Where  honeysuckles,  ripen'd  by  the  sun, 
Forbid  the  sun  to  enter,  like  favourites. 
Made  proud  by  princes,  that  advance  their  pride 
Against  that  power  that  bred  it :   there  will   she 

hide  her, 
To  listen  our  propose.     This  is  thy  office ; 
Bear  thee  well  in  it  and  leave  us  alone. 

Marg.     I  '11    make   her   come,   I    warrant    you, 
presently.  \Exit. 

Hero.   Now,  Ursula,  when  Beatrice  doth  come, 
As  v/e  do  trace  this  alley  up  and  down, 
Our  talk  must  only  be  of  Benedick. 
When  I  do  name  him,  let  it  be  thy  part 
To  praise  him  more  than  ever  man  did  merit : 
My  talk  to  thee  must  be  how  Benedick 
Is  sick  in  love  with  Beatrice.     Of  this  matter 
Is  little  Cupid's  crafty  arrow  made, 
That  only  wounds  by  hearsay. 

3.   Proposing,  conversing. 
12.  propose,  discourse.     SoQ  ;  Ff  '  purpose.* 

50 


sc.  I      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Enter  Beatrice,  behind. 

Now  begin ; 
For  look  where  Beatrice,  like  a  lapwing,  runs 
Close  by  the  ground,  to  hear  our  conference. 

Urs.  Tiie  pleasant'st  angling  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  with  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream, 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait : 
So  angle  we  for  Beatrice ;  who  even  now 
Is  couched  in  the  woodbine  coverture.  30 

Fear  you  not  my  part  of  the  dialogue. 

Hero.  Then  go  we  near  her,  that  her  ear  lose 
nothing 
Of  the  false  sweet  bait  that  we  lay  for  it. 

\_ApproaeJiing  (he  bower. 
No,  truly,  Ursula,  she  is  too  disdainful ; 
I  know  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 
As  haggards  of  the  rock. 

Urs.  But  are  you  sure 

That  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely  ? 

Hero.   So  savs  the  prince  and   my  new-trothed 
lord. 

Urs.    And    did    they    bjd   you    tell    her  of  it, 
madam  ? 

Hero.  They  did  entreat  me  to  acquaint  her  of  it ;    40 
But  I  persuaded  them,  if  they  loved  Benedick, 
To  wish  him  wrestle  with  affection, 
And  never  to  let  Beatrice  know  of  it. 

Urs.  Why  did  you  so  ?    Doth  not  the  gentleman 
Deserve  as  full  as  fortunate  a  bed 
As  ever  Beatrice  shall  couch  upon  ? 

Hero.   O  god  of  love  !   I   know  he  doth  deserve 
As  much  as  may  be  yielded  to  a  man  : 
But  Nature  never  framed  a  woman's  heart 
Of  prouder  stuff  than  that  of  Beatrice  ;  50 

36.   haggards,  wild  untrained  hawks. 
51 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing   act  m 

Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes, 
Misprising  what  they  look  on,  and  her  wit 
Values  itself  so  highly  that  to  her 
All  matter  else  seems  weak :  she  cannot  love, 
Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  affection, 
She  is  so  self-endeared. 

Urs.  Sure,  I  think  so  ; 

And  therefore  certainly  it  were  not  good 
She  knew  his  love,  lest  she  make  sport  at  it. 

Hero.   Why,  you  speak  truth.      I  never  yet  saw 
man, 
How  wise,  how  noble,  young,  how  rarely  featured,    60 
But  she  would  spell  him  backward  :  if  fair-faced. 
She  would  swear  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister ; 
If  black,  why.  Nature,  drawing  of  an  antic, 
Made  a  foul  blot ;  if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed  ; 
If  low,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut ; 
If  speaking,  why,  a  vane  blown  with  all  winds  ; 
If  silent,  why,  a  block  moved  with  none. 
So  turns  she  every  man  the  wrong  side  out. 
And  never  gives  to  truth  and  virtue  that 
Which  simpleness  and  merit  purchaseth.  70 

Urs.  Sure,  sure,  such  carping  is  not  commend- 
able. 

Hero.   No,  not  to  be  so  odd  and  from  all  fashions 
As  Beatrice  is,  cannot  be  commendable  : 
But  who  dare  tell  her  so?     If  I  should  speak. 
She  would  mock  me  into  air ;  O,  she  would  laugh 

me 
Out  of  myself,  press  me  to  death  with  wit. 
Therefore  let  Benedick,  like  cover'd  fire, 

52.  Misprising,  undervaluing.  72.  from  all  fashions,  uncon- 

63.  ^/af>i,  of  dark  complexion.  ventional. 

ib.   antic,  buffoon.  76.    press  me   to  death  with 

65.   an  agate ;  often  worn  in  wit ;  alluding  to  the  torture  of 

rings,   with  little  figures  cut   in  crushing  with  heavy  weights  (the 

it ;  hence  a  symbol  for  smallness.  '  peine  forte  el  dure ' ). 

52 


sc.  I       Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Consume  away  in  sighs,  waste  inwardly  : 

It  were  a  better  death  than  die  with  mocks, 

Which  is  as  bad  as  die  with  tickling.  •       80 

Urs.  Yet  tell  her  of  it :  hear  what  she  will  say. 

Hero.  No ;  rather  I  will  go  to  Benedick 
And  counsel  him  to  fight  against  his  passion. 
And,  truly,  I  '11  devise  some  honest  slanders 
To  stain  my  cousin  with  :   one  doth  not  know 
How  much  an  ill  word  may  empoison  liking. 

Urs.   O,  do  not  do  your  cousin  such  a  wrong. 
She  cannot  be  so  much  without  true  judgement — 
Having  so  swift  and  excellent  a  wit 
As  she  is  prized  to  have — as  to  refuse  90 

So  rare  a  gentleman  as  Signior  Benedick. 

Hero.   He  is  the  only  man  of  Italy, 
Always  excepted  my  dear  Claudio. 

Urs.   I  pray  you,  be  not  angry  with  me,  madam, 
Speaking  my  fancy  :  Signior  Benedick, 
For  shape,  for  bearing,  argument  and  valour. 
Goes  foremost  in  report  through  Italy. 

Hero.   Indeed,  he  hath  an  excellent  good  name. 

Urs.   His  excellence  did  earn  it,  ere  he  had  it. 
When  are  you  married,  madam  ?  100 

Hero.  Why,  every  day,  to-morrow.    Come,  go  in  : 
I  '11  show  thee  some  attires,  and  have  thy  counsel 
Which  is  the  best  to  furnish  me  to-morrow. 

Urs.   She's    limed,    I    warrant   you:    we    have 
caught  her,  madam. 

Hero.   If  it  proves  so,  then  loving  goes  by  haps  : 
Some  Cupid  kills  with  arrows,  some  with  traps. 

\Exetint  Hero  and  Ursula. 

Beat.   [Coming  forward]     What  fire  is  in  mine 
ears  ?     Can  this  be  true  ? 

Stand  I  condemn'd  for  pride  and  scorn  so  much  ? 

loi.   every  day;    Hero  plays      tion  :    from   to-morrow  she  will 
upon  the  ambiguity  of  the  ques-      be  '  every  day '  a  married  woman. 

53 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing   actiu 

Contempt,  farewell !  and  maiden  pride,  adieu  ! 

No  glory  lives  behind  the  back  of  such.  no 

And,  Benedick,  love  on  ;  I  will  requite  thee, 

Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand : 
If  thou  dost  love,  my  kindness  shall  incite  thee 

To  bind  our  loves  up  in  a  holy  band ; 
For  others  say  thou  dost  deserve,  and  I 
Believe  it  better  than  reportingly.  [Exif. 


Scene  II.     A  room  in  Leonato's  house. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  and 
Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.   I  do  but  stay  till  your  marriage  be 
consummate,  and  then  go  I  toward  Arragon. 

Clmid.  I  '11  bring  you  thither,  my  lord,  if  you  '11 
vouchsafe  me. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  that  would  be  as  great  a  soil  in 
the  new  gloss  of  your  marriage  as  to  show  a  child 
his  new  coat  and  forbid  him  to  wear  it.  I  will 
only  be  bold  with  Benedick  for  his  company ;  for, 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot, 
he  is  all  mirth  :  he  hath  twice  or  thrice  cut  Cupid's  lo 
bow-string  and  the  little  hangman  dare  not  shoot 
at  him  :  he  hath  a  heart  as  sound  as  a  bell  and 
his  tongue  is  the  clapper,  for  what  his  heart  thinks 
his  tongue  speaks. 

Bene.   Gallants,  I  am  not  as  I  have  been. 

Leon.  So  say  I  :  methinks  you  are  sadder. 

Claud.   I  hope  he  be  in  love. 

D.  Pedro.  Hang  him,  truant !  there 's  no  true 
drop  of  blood  in  him,  to  be  truly  touched  with 
love  :  if  he  be  sad,  he  wants  money.  20 

116.   reportingly,  on  hearsay.      general,   whatever  the  mode  of 
II.  hangman,  executioner  (in      death). 

54 


SC.   II 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


Bene.  I  have  the  toothache. 

D.  Pedro.   Draw  it. 

Bene.   Hang  it ! 

Claud.  You  must  hang  it  first,  and  draw  it  after- 
wards. 

D.  Pedro.  What !  sigh  for  the  toothache  ? 

Leon.  Where  is  but  a  humour  or  a  worm. 

Bene.  Well,  every  one  can  master  a  grief  but 
he  that  has  it. 

Claud.  Yet  say  I,  he  is  in  love.  3a 

D.  Pedro.  There  is  no  appearance  of  fancy  in 
him,  unless  it  be  a  fancy  that  he  hath  to  strange 
disguises ;  as,  to  be  a  Dutchman  to-day,  a  French- 
man to-morrow,  or  in  the  shape  of  two  countries 
at  once,  as,  a  German  from  the  waist  downward, 
all  slops,  and  a  Spaniard  from  the  hip  upward,  no 
doublet.  Unless  he  have  a  fancy  to  this  foolery, 
as  it  appears  he  hath,  he  is  no  fool  for  fancy,  as 
you  would  have  it  appear  he  is. 

Claud.   If  he  be  not  in  love  with  some  woman,    40 
there  is  no  believing  old  signs :  a'  brushes  his  hat 
o'  mornings  ;  what  should  that  bode  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  any  man  seen  him  at  the 
barber's  ? 

Claud.  No,  but  the  barber's  man  hath  been 
seen  with  him,  and  the  old  ornament  of  his  cheek 
hath  already  stuffed  tennis-balls. 

Leon.  Indeed,  he  looks  younger  than  he  did, 
by  the  loss  of  a  beard. 

D.  Pedro.   Nay,  a'  rubs  himself  with  civet :  can    30 
you  smell  "him  out  by  that? 

Claud.  That 's  as  much  as  to  say,  the  sweet 
youth  's  in  love. 

IT..  Draw  it.    Hang  it !  Bene-      execution.'     The  quibble  recurs 
dick  quibbles  on  'draw'  in  the      m  Meas.  for  Aleas.  ii.  i.  215. 
sense  of   '  drag   on    hurdles    to 

55 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    acthi 


D.  Pedro,  The  greatest  note  of  it  is  his  melan- 
choly. 

Claud.   And   when  was  he   wont  to  "wash    his 
face  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  or  to  paint  himself?  for  the 
which,  I  hear  what  they  say  of  him. 

Claud.    Na)-,    but   his   jesting   spirit ;  which    is    60 
now  crept  into  a  lute-string  and  now  governed  by 
stops. 

D.  Pedro.  Indeed,  that  tells  a  heavy  tale  for 
him  :  conclude,  conclude  he  is  in  love. 

Claud.   Nay,  but  I  know  who  loves  him. 

D.  Pedro.  That  would  I  know  too  :  I  warrant, 
one  that  knows  him  not. 

Claud.  Yes,  and  his  ill  conditions ;  and,  in  de- 
spite of  all,  dies  for  him. 

D.  Pedro.   She   shall  be  buried  with  her   face    70 
upwards. 

Bene.  Yet  is  this  no  charm  for  the  toothache. 
Old  signior,  walk  aside  with  me :  I  have  studied 
eight  or  nine  wise  words  to  speak  to  you,  which 
these  hobby-horses  must  not  hear. 

\JExeunt  Benedick  and  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  For  my  life,  to  break  with  him  about 
Beatrice. 

Claud.   'Tis  even  so.      Hero  and  Margaret  have 
by  this  played  their  parts  with  Beatrice ;  and  then 
the  two  bears  will  not  bite  one  another  when  they    80 
meet. 

Enter  Don  John. 

D.  John.   My  lord  and  brother,  God  save  you  ! 
D.  Pedro.   Good  den,  brother 

68.   conditions,  disposition.  its  natural  consummation. 

70.    shall  be  buried  with  her  >    ..     .  j  ,. 

face  upwards,  i.  e.  shall  be  united  75-   hobbyhorses,  dolts, 

with    Benedick,    a    '  burial '    in  83.     Good    den,    Good    e'en, 

which  her  '  dving  for  love '  finds  Good  evening. 

56 


sc.  II      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

D.  John.  If  your  leisure  served,  I  would  speak 
with  you. 

D.  Pedro.   In  private? 

D.  John.  If  it  please  you  :  yet  Count  Claudio 
may  hear;  for  what  I  would  speak  of  concerns 
him. 

D.  Pedro.     What 's  the  matter  ?  99 

D.  John.  [To  Claudio']  Means  your  lordship  to 
be  married  to-morrow  ? 

D.  Pedro.   You  know  he  does. 

P>.  John.  I  know  not  that,  when  he  knows 
what  I  know. 

Claud.  If  there  be  any  impediment,  I  pray  you 
discover  it. 

D.  John.  You  may  think  I  love  you  not :  let 
that  appear  hereafter,  and  aim  better  at  me  by 
that  I  now  will  manifest.  For  my  brother,  I  think  100 
he  holds  you  well,  and  in  dearness  of  heart  hath 
holp  to  effect  your  ensuing  marriage ; — surely  suit 
ill  spent  and  labour  ill  bestowed. 

D,  Pedro.   Why,  what 's  the  matter  ? 

D.  John.  I  came  hither  to  tell  you  ;  and,  cir- 
cumstances shortened,  for  she  has  been  too  long  a 
talking  of,  the  lady  is  disloyal. 

Claud.   Who,  Hero? 

D.  John.  Even  she;  Leonato's  Hero,  your 
Hero,  every  man's  Hero.  no 

Claud.   Disloyal  ? 

D.  John.  The  word  is  too  good  to  paint  out  her 
wickedness ;  I  could  say  she  were  worse :  think 
you  of  a  worse  title,  and  I  will  fit  her  to  it. 
Wonder  not  till  further  warrant :  go  but  with  me 
to-night,  you  shall  see  her  chamber-window  entered, 
even  the   night   before   her  wedding-day:  if  you 

99.   aim  better  at  me,  forma  lox.  Jioldsyouivell,\ssAX.a.chz^ 

truer  opinion  of  me.  to  you. 

57 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  m 

love  her  then,  to-morrow  wed  her ;  but  it  would 
better  fit  your  honour  to  change  your  mind. 

Claud.   May  this  he  so  ?  120 

D.  Pedro.   I  will  not  think  it. 

D.  John.  If  you  dare  not  trust  t.'iat  you  see, 
confess  not  that  you  know  :  if  you  will  follow  me, 
I  will  show  you  enough  ;  and  when  you  have  seen 
more  and  heard  more,  proceed  accordingly. 

Claud.  If  I  see  any  thing  to-night  why  I  should 
not  marry  her  to-morrow,  in  tlie  congregation, 
where  I  should  wed,  there  will  I  shame  her. 

D.  Pedro.  And,  as  I  wooed  for  thee  to  obtain 
her,  I  will  join  with  thee  to  disgrace  her,  130 

D.  John.  I  will  disparage  her  no  farther  till 
you  are  my  witnesses  :  bear  it  coldly  but  till  mid- 
night, and  let  the  issue  show  itself. 

D.  Pedro.   O  day  untowardly  turned  ! 

Claud.   O  mischief  strangely  thwarting  ! 

D.  John.  O  plague  right  well. prevented  !  so 
will  you  say  when  you  have  seen  the  sequel. 

^Exeunt 

Scene  III.     A  street. 

Enter  Dogberry  and  Verges  7vith  the  Watch. 

Dog.  Are  you  good  men  and  true  ? 

Verg.  Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should 
suffer  salvation,  body  and  soul. 

Dog.  Nay,  that  were  a  punishment  too  good 
for  them,  if  they  should  have  any  allegiance  in 
them,  being  chosen  for  the  prince's  watch. 

Verg.  Well,  give  them  their  charge,  neighbour 
Dogberry. 

Dog,  First,  who  think  you  the  most  desartless 
man  to  be  constable?  w 

58 


sc.  Ill     Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

First  Watch.  Hugh  Otecake,  sir,  or  George 
Seacole  :  for  they  can  write  and  read. 

Dog.  Come  hither,  neighbour  Seacole.  God 
hath  blessed  you  with  a  good  name  :  to  be  a  well- 
favoured  man  is  the  gift  of  fortune  ;  but  to  write 
and  read  comes  by  nature. 

Sec.   Waich.   Botli  which,  master  constable, — 

Dog.  You  have :  I  knew  it  would  be  your 
answer.  Well,  for  your  favour,  sir,  why,  give  God 
thanks,  and  make  no  boast  of  it ;  and  for  your  ze 
writing  and  reading,  let  that  appear  when  there  is 
no  need  of  such  vanity.  You  are  thought  here  to 
be  the  most  senseless  and  fit  man  for  the  constable 
of  the  v.'atch ;  therefore  bear  you  the  lantern. 
This  is  your  charge  :  you  shall  comprehend  all 
vagrom  men  ;  you  are  to  bid  any  man  stand,  in 
the  prince's  name. 

Sec.   Watch.   How  if  a'  will  not  stand? 

Dog.  Why,  then,  take  no  note  of  him,  but  let 
him  go ;  and  presently  call  the  rest  of  the  watch    30 
together  and  thank  God  you  are  rid  of  a  knave. 

Verg.  If  he  will  not  stand  when  he  is  bidden, 
he  is  none  of  the  prince's  subjects. 

Dog.  True,  and  they  are  to  meddle  with  none 
but  the  prince's  subjects.  You  shall  also  make 
no  noise  in  the  streets  ;  for  for  the  watch  to  babble 
and  to  talk  is  most  tolerable  and  not  to  be  en- 
dured. 

Watch.  We  v,'ill  rather  sleep  than  talk :  we 
know  what  belongs  to  a  watch.  40 

Dog.  Wh-y,  you  speak  like  an  ancient  and  most 
quiet  watchman  ;  for  I  cannot  see  how  sleeping 
should  offend  :  only,  have  a  care  that  your  bills 
be  not  stolen.  Well,  you  are  to  call  at  all  the  ale- 
houses, and  bid  those  that  are  drunk  get  them  to 
bed. 

59 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  m 

Watch.   How  if  they  will  not  ? 

Dog.    Why,   then,  let  them  alone  till  they  are 
sober :    if  they   make   you    not    then    the    better 
answer,  you  may  say  they  are  not  the  men  you    50 
took  them  for. 

Watch.  Well,  sir. 

Dog.  If  you  meet  a  thief,  you  may  suspect  him, 
by  virtue  of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man ;  and, 
for  such  kind  of  men,  the  less  you  meddle  or  make 
with  them,  why,  the  more  is  for  your  honesty. 

Watch.  If  we  know  him  to  be  a  thief,  shall  we 
not  lay  hands  on  him  ? 

Dog.    Truly,   by  your   office,    you  may  ;    but    I 
think  they  that  touch  pitch  will  be  defiled  :   the  60 
most  peaceable  way  for  you,  if  you  do  take  a  thief, 
is  to  let  him  show  himself  what  he  is  and  steal 
out  of  your  company. 

Verg.  You  have  been  always  called  a  merciful 
man,  partner. 

Dog.  Truly,  I  would  not  hang  a  dog  by  my 
will,  much  more  a  man  who  hath  any  honesty  in 
him. 

Verg.  If  you  hear  a  child  cry  in  the  night,  you 
must  call  to  the  nurse  and  bid  her  still  it.  70 

JFatch.  How  if  the  nurse  be  asleep  and  will 
not  hear  us  ? 

Dog.  Why,  then,  depart  in  peace,  and  let  the 
child  wake  her  with  crying ;  for  the  ewe  that  will 
not  hear  her  lamb  when  it  baes  will  never  answer 
a  calf  when  he  bleats. 

Verg.   'Tis  very  true. 

Dog.    This  is   the   end   of  the   charge: — you, 
constable,  are  to  present  the  prince's  own  person  : 
if  you    meet   the   prince   in   the   night,   you   may   80 
stay  him. 

Verg.  Nay,  by  'r  lady,  that  I  think  a'  can- 
not. 60 


sc.  Ill     Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Dog.  Five  shillings  to  one  on 't,  with  any  man 
that  knows  the  statues,  he  may  stay  him  :  marry, 
not  without  the  prince  be  willing ;  for,  indeed, 
the  watch  ought  to  offend  no  man  :  and  it  is  an 
offence  to  stay  a  man  against  his  will. 

Verg.   By  'r  lady,  I  think  it  be  so. 

Dog.   Ha,  ah,  ha  !    Well,  masters,  good  night :  ^o 
an   there   be  any  matter   of  weight  chances,  call 
up   me :    keep    your   fellows'   counsels    and    your 
own  :  and  good  night.      Come,  neighbour. 

Watch.  Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  charge : 
let  us  go  sit  here  upon  the  church-bench  till  two, 
and  then  all  to  bed. 

Dog.    One  word   more,    honest   neighbours.     I 
pray  you,   watch   about   Signior   Leonato's  door; 
for  the  wedding  being  there  to-morrow,  there  is  a 
great  coil  to-night.     Adieu  :  be  vigitant,  I  beseech  loo 
you.  \_Exeunt  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

Enter  Borachio  and  Conrade. 

Bora.  What,  Conrade  ! 

Watch.  [Aside]  Peace  !  stir  not. 

Bora.   Conrade,  I  say  ! 

Con.   Here,  man  ;  I  am  at  thy  elbow. 

Bora.  Mass,  and  my  elbow  itched ;  I  thought 
there  would  a  scab  follow. 

Con.  I  will  owe  thee  an  answer  for  that :  and 
now  forward  with  thy  tale. 

Bora.   Stand  thee  close,  then,  under  this  pent-  no 
house,  for  it  drizzles  rain ;  and  I  will,  like  a  true 
drunkard,  utter  all  to  thee. 

Watch.  [Aside]  Some  treason,  masters :  yet 
stand  close. 

loo.  coit,  disturbance.  no.  fent-house,    a  porch    or 

107.  scab,  low  fellow  (with  a  shed  with  a  projecting  roof, 
quibble). 

6i 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  m 

Bora.  Therefore  know  I  have  earned  of  Don 
John  a  thousand  ducats. 

Con.  Is  it  possible  that  any  villany  should  be 
so  dear  ? 

Bora.  Thou    shouldst    rather    ask    if    it    were 
possible  any  villany  should  be  so  rich  ;  for  when  120 
rich  villains  have  need  of  poor  ones,   poor  ones 
may  make  what  price  they  will. 

Con.   I  wonder  at  it 

Bora.  That  shows  thou  art  unconfirmed.  Thou 
knowest  that  the  fashion  of  a  doublet,  or  a  hat, 
or  a  cloak,  is  nothing  to  a  man. 

Con.  Yes,  it  is  apparel. 

Bora.   I  mean,  the  fashion. 

Con.  Yes,  the  fashion  is  the  fashion. 

Bora.  Tush  !  I  may  as  well  say  the  fool 's  the  130 
fool.      But  seest  thou  not  what  a  deformed  thief 
this  fashion  is  ? 

Watch.  \Aside\  I  know  that  Deformed :  a'  has 
been  a  vile  thief  this  seven  year ;  a'  goes  up 
and  down  like  a  gentleman :  I  remember  his 
name. 

Bora.   Didst  thou  not  hear  somebody  ? 

Con.   No  ;  'twas  the  vane  on  the  house. 

Bora.  Seest  thou  not,  I  say,  what  a  deformed 
thief  this  fashion  is  ?  how  giddily  a'  turns  about  140 
all  the  hot  bloods  between  fourteen  and  five-and- 
thirty  ?  sometimes  fashioning  them  like  Pharaoh's 
soldiers  in  the  reechy  painting,  sometime  like  god 
Eel's  priests  in  the  old  church-window,  sometime 
like  the  shaven  Hercules  in  the  smirched  worm- 
eaten  tapestry,  where  his  codpiece  seems  as 
massy  as  his  club? 

143.  reechy,  smoky.  probably    a    representative     of 

144.  Bel,    the    god    of    the      Hercules,  disguised  as  a  woman, 
Chaldeans.  in  the  service  of  Omphale. 

145.  the    shaven    Hercules; 

62 


sc.  Ill     Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Con.  All  tliis  I  see  ;  and  I  see  that  the  fashion 
wears  out  more  apparel  than  the  man.      Eut  art 
not  thou  thyself  giddy  with  the  fashion   too,  that  150 
thou  hast  shifted  out  of  thy  tale  into  telling  me 
of  the  fashion  ? 

Bora.  Not  so,  neither  :  but  know  that  I  have 
to-night  wooed  Margaret,  the  Lady  Hero's  gentle- 
woman, by  the  name  of  Hero :  she  leans  me 
out  at  her  mistress'  chamber-window,  bids  me  a 
thousand  times  good  night, — I  tell  this  tale  vilely  : 
— I  should  first  tell  thee  how  the  prince,  Claudio 
and  my  master,  planted  and  placed  and  possessed 
by  my  master  Don  John,  saw  afar  off  in  the  160 
orchard  this  amiable  encounter. 

Con.      And      thought      they      Margaret      was 
Hero? 

Bora.  Two  of  them  did,  the  prince  and 
Claudio ;  but  the  devil  my  master  knew  she  was 
Margaret ;  and  partly  by  his  oaths,  which  first 
possessed  them,  partly  by  the  dark  night,  which 
did  deceive  them,  but  chiefly  by  my  villany, 
which  did  confirm  any  slander  that  Don  John 
had  made,  away  went  Claudio  enraged ;  swore  170 
he  would  meet  her,  as  he  was  appointed,  next 
morning  at  the  temple,  and  there,  before  the 
whole  congregation,  shame  her  with  what  he  saw 
o'er  night  and  send  her  home  again  without  a 
husband. 

First  Watch.    We  charge  you,  in   the   prince's 
name,  stand  ! 

Sec.   IVatch.   Call  up  the  right  master  constable. 
We  have  here  recovered  the  most  dangerous  piece 
of  lechery  that  ever  was   known  in  the  common-  180 
wealth, 

155.    me,  the  ethical  dative. 
161.   amiable  encounter,  tender  meeting. 

63 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  m 

First   Watch.    And    one    Deformed    is    one   of 
them  :   I  know  him  ;  a'  wears  a  lock. 

Con.   Masters,  masters, — 

Sec.   Watch.    You  '11   be  made  bring   Deformed 
forth,  I  warrant  you. 

Con.   Masters, — 

First  Watch.   Never  speak  :  we  charge  you  let 
us  obey  you  to  go  with  us. 

Bora.     We   are   like   to   prove  a    goodly   com-  190 
modity,  being  taken  up  of  these  men's  bills. 

Con.     A    commodity    in    question,    I    warrant 
you.     Come,  we  '11  obey  you.  \Exeunt. 


Scene  IV.     Hero's  apartment. 

Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  and  Ursula. 

Hero.  Good  Ursula,  wake  my  cousin  Beatrice, 
and  desire  her  to  rise. 

Urs.   I  will,  lady. 

Hero.  And  bid  her  come  hither. 

Urs.   Well.  [Exit. 

Marg.  Troth,  I  think  your  other  rabato  were 
better. 

Hero.  No,  pray  thee,  good  Meg,  I  '11  wear  this. 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  's  not  so  good ;  and  I 
warrant  your  cousin  will  say  so.  10 

Hero.  My  cousin  's  a  fool,  and  thou  art  another: 
I  '11  wear  none  but  this. 

183.    lock,    a    '  love -lock,"   a  herds'    (the  official   weapon  of 

long  lock  tied  with  ribbon,  hang-  watchmen). 

ing  down  behind  the  ear. 

189.   obey,  for  'command.'  ,    .^?2.    in  question,  m  demand 

191.    taken  up  of  these  mens  ^"^h  a  similar  allusion   to   the 

bills,  bought  up  on  their  credit.  ^^a'  sense  of  question  :  trial  at 

with  a  play  on  the  legal  sense  :  '^*)'  '  wanted. 

•  arrested  in  virtue  of  their  hal-  6.   rabato,  collar. 

64 


I 


SC.  IV 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


Marg.  I  like  the  new  tire  within  excellently, 
if  the  hair  were  a  thought  browner;  and  your 
gown's  a  most  rare  fashion,  i'  faith.  I  saw  the 
Duchess  of  Milan's  gown  that  they  praise  so. 

Hero.   O,  til  at  exceeds,  they  say. 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  's  but  a  night-gown  in 
respect  of  yours  :  cloth  o'  gold,  and  cuts,  and 
laced  with  silver,  set  with  pearls,  down  sleeves,  20 
side  sleeves,  and  skirts,  round  underborne  with  a 
bluish  tinsel  :  but  for  a  fine,  quaint,  graceful  and 
excellent  fashion,  yours  is  worth  ten  on  't. 

Hero.    God   give  me  joy  to   wear  it !    for  my 
heart  is  exceeding  heavy. 

Marg.    'Twill  be  heavier  soon  by  the   weight 
of  a  man. 

Hero.   Fie  upon  thee  !  art  not  ashamed  ? 

Marg.  Of  what,  lady?  of  speaking  honour- 
ably? Is  not  marriage  honourable  in  a  beggar?  30 
Is  not  your  lord  honourable  without  marriage  ?  I 
think  you  would  have  me  say,  '  saving  your  rever- 
ence, a  husband  : '  an  bad  thinking  do  not  wrest 
true  speaking,  I  '11  offend  nobody :  is  there  any 
harm  in  '  the  heavier  for  a  husband  '  ?  None,  I 
think,  an  it  be  the  right  husband  and  the  right 
wif-  ;  otherwise  'tis  light,  and  not  heavy  :  ask  my 
Lady  Beatrice  else  ;  here  she  comes. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Hero.  Good  morrow,  coz. 

Beat.   Good  morrow,  sweet  Hero.  4c 

Hero.    Why,  how  now?   do   you   speak  in  the 
sick  tune  ? 

Beat.   I  am  out  of  all  other  tune,  methinks. 

13.    tire,  head-dress.  gown. 

18.    night-gown,      dressing-  21.    underborne,  Xrvcamt^ 

VOL.   Ill  65  F 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  m 

Marg.  Clap  's  into  '  Light  o'  love  ; '  that  goes 
without  a  burden :  do  you  sing  it,  and  I  '11 
dance  it. 

Beat.  Ye  light  o'  love,  with  your  heels  !  then, 
if  your  husband  have  stables  enough,  you  '11  see 
he  shall  lack  no  barns. 

Marg.     O    illegitimate    construction !     I    scorn   so 
that  with  my  heels. 

Beat.  'Tis  almost  five  o'clock,  cousin ;  'tis 
time  you  were  ready.  By  my  troth,  I  am  ex- 
ceeding ill :  heigh-ho ! 

Marg.   For  a  hawk,  a  horse,  or  a  husband  ? 

Beat.   For  the  letter  that  begins  them  all,  H. 

Marg.  Well,  an  you  be  not  turned  Turk, 
there's  no  more  sailing  by  the  star. 

Beat.   What  means  the  fool,  trow? 

Marg.    Nothing   I ;    but   God   send   every  one   60 
their  heart's  desire  ! 

Hero.  These  gloves  the  count  sent  me ;  they 
are  an  excellent  perfume. 

Beat.   I  am  stuffed,  cousin  ;  I  cannot  smell. 

Alarg.  A  maid,  and  stuffed !  there 's  goodly 
catching  of  cold. 

Beat.  O,  God  help  me  !  God  help  me !  how 
long  have  you  professed  apprehension  ? 

Marg.  Ever  since  you  left  it.  Doth  not  my 
wit  become  me  rarely?  7° 


44.    '  Ligkt  0  loz'e,'  \he  n7i.m&  56.    H,     'ache'    (then    pro- 
of an    old    dance -tune,    hence  nounced,  like  the  letter,  'atch'). 
proverbial    for    levity    in    love  ;  Beatrice    also  uses   '  for '  in   it 
cf.   Two  Gent,  of  Ver.  i.  2.  83.  sense  of  '  arising  from.' 

57.    turned    Turk.       Beatrice 

47.   -with  your  heels  (carrying  ^^^^  j^  jg  insinuated,  become  an 

on  the  notion  of  the  '  light  o"  j^^^^,  j^  j^^^  professed  creed  of 

love'),  agile,  i.e.  fickle,  in  love.  ^^^^^  j-^^  ^^^ 

49.   barns  (with  a  play  upon  68.    professed     apprehension 

'  bairns ').  set  up  for  a  wit. 

66 


sc.  IV      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Beat.  It  is  not  seen  enough,  you  should  wear 
it  in  your  cap.      By  my  troth,  I  am  sick. 

Marg.  Get  you  some  of  this  distilled  Car- 
duus  Benedictus,  and  lay  it  to  your  heart ;  it  is 
the  only  thing  for  a  qualm. 

Hero.  There  thou  prickest  her  with  a  thistle. 

Beat.  Benedictus  !  why  Benedictus  ?  you  have 
some  moral  in  this  Benedictus. 

Marg.  Moral !  no,  by  my  troth,  I  have  no 
moral  meaning  ;  I  meant,  plain  holy-thistle.  You  80 
may  think  perchance  that  I  think  you  are  in 
love  ;  nay,  by  'r  lady,  I  am  not  such  a  fool  to 
think  what  I  list,  nor  I  list  not  to  think  what  I 
can,  nor  indeed  I  cannot  think,  if  I  would  think 
my  heart  out  of  thinking,  that  you  are  in  love  or 
that  you  will  be  in  love  or  that  you  can  be  in 
love.  Yet  Benedick  was  such  another,  and  now 
is  he  become  a  man  :  he  swore  he  would  never 
marry,  and  yet  now,  in  despite  of  his  heart,  he 
eats  his  meat  without  grudging :  and  how  you  90 
may  be  converted  I  know  not,  but  methinks  you 
look  with  your  eyes  as  other  women  do. 

Beat.   AVhat  pace  is  this  that  thy  tongue  keeps  ? 

Marg.   Not  a  false  gallop. 


Re-enter  Ursula. 

Urs.  Madam,  withdraw  :  the  prince,  the  count, 
Signior  Benedick,  Don  John,  and  all  the  gallants 
of  the  town,  are  come  to  fetch  you  to  church. 

Hero.  Help  to  dress  me,  good  coz,  good  Meg, 
good  Ursula.  [Exeufit. 

73.    Carduus  Benedictus ,  the  or  Omnimorbia,  that  is,  a  salve 

holy  -  thistle,    regarded    in    the  for  every   sore,    not    known    to 

later    sixteenth     century    as    a  physicians  of  old  time' (Cogan's 

panacea.  '  This    herb    may  Haven  of  Health,  1589). 

worthily  be  called   Benedictus,  80.  holy-thistle ;  cf.  last  note. 

67 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  m 


Scene  V,     Another  room  in  Leonato's  house. 

Enter  Leonato,  with  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

Leon.  What  would  you  with  me,  honest  neigh- 
bour ? 

Dog.  Marry,  sir,  I  would  have  some  confidence 
with  you  that  decerns  you  nearly. 

Leon.  Brief,  I  pray  you  ;  for  you  see  it  is  a 
busy  time  with  me. 

Dog.   Marry,  this  it  is,  sir, 

Verg.  Yes,  in  truth  it  is,  sir. 

Leon.  What  is  it,  my  good  friends  ? 

Dog.   Goodman  Verges,   sir,  speaks  a  little  off  lo 
the  matter  :  an  old  man,  sir,  and  his  wits  are  not 
so  blunt  as,  God  help,  I  would  desire  they  were  ; 
but,    in    faith,    honest    as   the    skin    between    his 
brows. 

Verg.  Yes,  I  thank  God  I  am  as  honest  as 
any  man  living  that  is  an  old  man  and  no 
honester  than  I. 

Dog.  Comparisons  are  odorous :  palabras, 
neighbour  Verges. 

Leon.   Neighbours,  you  are  tedious.  so 

Dog.  It  pleases  your  worship  to  say  so,  but 
we  are  the  poor  duke's  officers ;  but  truly,  for 
mine  own  part,  if  I  were  as  tedious  as  a  king,  I 
could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  bestow  it  all  of  your 
worship. 

Leon.  All  thy  tediousness  on  me,  ah  ? 

Dog.   Yea,  an  'twere  a  thousand   pound  more 

3.     confidence,     for     '  confer-  paucas pallabris,  in  The  Taming 

ence."  of  the  Shre-co,  Induct,  i.  5. 

18.  palabras,  a  corruption  of  23.  tedious;  Dogberry  under- 

the   Span,    pocas  palabras,    i.e.  stands  by  the  word   '  gracious,' 

'  few    words. '       It    appears   as  or  the  like. 

6S 


3C.  V 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


than  'tis ;  for  I  hear  as  good  exclamation  on  5'our 
worship  as  of  any  man  in  the  city ;  and  though  I 
be  but  a  poor  man,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  30 

Verg.   And  so  am  I. 

Zeon.   I  Vv'ould  fain  know  what  you  have  to  say. 
Verg.   Marry,  sir,  our  watch  to-night,   excepting 
your  worship's  presence,  ha'  ta'en  a  couple  of  as 
arrant  knaves  as  any  in  Messina. 

I^og.  A  good  old  man,  sir ;  he  will  be  talking : 
as  they  say.  When  the  age  is  in,  the  wit  is  out : 
God  help  us  !  it  is  a  world  to  see.  Well  said, 
i'  faith,  neighbour  Verges  :  well,  God's  a  good 
man ;  an  two  men  ride  of  a  hcr£-.e.  one  must  ride  40 
behind.  An  hontst  soul,  i'  faith,  sir ;  by  my 
troth  he  is,  as  ever  broke  bread ;  but  God  is  to  be 
worshipp^^d ;  all  men  are  not  ahke;  alas,  good 
neighbour ! 

Zeon.  Indeed,  neighbour,  he  comes  too  short 
of  you. 

£>og.   Gifts  that  God  gives. 

Zeon.   I  must  leave  vou. 

Z)og.  One  word,   sir :    our  watch,   sir,  have  in- 
deed  comprehended   two   aspicious   persons,    and   50 
we  would  have  them  this  morning  examined  before 
your  worship. 

Zeon.  Take  their  examination  yourself  and 
bring  it  me :  I  am  now  in  great  haste,  as  it  may 
appear  unto  you. 

Z)og.  It  shall  be  suffigance. 

Zeon.  Drink  some  wine  ere  you  go  :  fare  you 
well. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

ATess.  My  lord,  they  stay  for  you  to  give  your 
daughter  to  her  husband.  60 

Zeon.  I  '11  wait  upon  them  :  I  am  ready. 

\Exeunt  Zeonato  and  Messenger. 
69 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  iv 

Dog.  Go,  good  partner,  go,  get  you  to  Francis 
Seacole  ;  bid  him  bring  his  pen  and  inkhorn  to 
the  gaol :  we  are  now  to  examination  these  men. 

Verg.   And  we  must  do  it  wisely. 

Dog.  We  will  spare  for  no  wit,  I  warrant  you  ; 
here 's  that  shall  drive  some  of  them  to  a  non- 
come  :  only  get  the  learned  writer  to  set  down  our 
excommunication,  and  meet  me  at  the  gaol. 

\Exeunt 


ACT    IV. 

Scene  I.     A  church. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Don  John,  Leonato,  Friar 
Francis,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Hero,  Bea- 
trice, and  attendants. 

Leon.  Come,  Friar  Francis,  be  brief ;  only  to 
the  plain  form  of  marriage,  and  you  shall  recount 
their  particular  duties  afterwards. 

Friar.  You   come   hither,    my  lord,    to   marry 
this  lady. 

Claud.  No. 

Leon.  To  be  married  to  her  :  friar,  you  come  to 
marry  her. 

Friar.  Lady,  you  come  hither  to  be  married  to 
this  count.  zo 

LLero.    I  do. 

Friar.   If  either  of  you  know  any  inward  impedi- 

67.    noncome,  properly  an  ab-      berry  means  :  to  a  nonplus. 
brevialion  for  non  compos  mentis,  69.  excommunication,  for  'ex- 

'of  unsound  mind';  but  Dog-      amination.' 

70 


SC.  I 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


ment  why  you  should  not  be  conjoined,  I  charge 
you,  on  your  souls,  to  utter  it. 

Claud.   Know  you  any,  Hero  ? 

Hero.   None,  my  lord. 

Friar.   Know  you  any,  count  ? 

Leon.   I  dare  make  his  answer,  none. 

Claud.   O,  what  men  dare  do  !  what  men  may 
do  !  what  men  daily  do,  not  knowing  what  they    20 
do! 

Bene.    How  now  !    interjections  ?      Wliy,  then, 
some  be  of  laughing,  as,  ah,  ha,  he  ! 

Claud.  Stand  thee  by,   friar.     Father,  by  your 
leave : 
Will  you  with  free  and  unconstrained  soul 
Give  me  this  maid,  your  daugliter? 

Leon.  As  freely,  son,  as  God  did  give  her  me. 

Claud.    And   what  have  I   to  give  you   back 
whose  worth 
May  counterpoise  this  rich  and  precious  gift? 

D.  Pedro.   Nothing,  unless  you  render  her  again.    30 

Claud.   Sweet  prince,  you  learn  me  noble  thank- 
fulness. 
There,  Leonato,  take  her  back  again : 
Give  not  this  rotten  orange  to  your  friend  ; 
She  's  but  the  sign  and  semblance  of  her  honour. 
Behold  how  like  a  maid  she  blushes  here ! 
O,  what  authority  and  show  of  truth 
Can  cunning  sin  cover  itself  withal ! 
Comes  not  that  blood  as  modest  evidence 
To  witness  simple  virtue  ?     Would  you  not  swear, 
All  you  that- see  her,  that  she  were  a  maid,  40 

By  these  exterior  shows  ?     But  she  is  none : 

22.    Why,    then,    some   be  of  cf.    Lyly's  Endym.  :   '  An  inter- 

laughing,  etc. ,  a  quotation  from  jection ,    whereof    some    are    of 

the  classification  of  interjections  mourning,  as  eho  !  vah  ! ' 
in  the  current  school-grammars  ;  31.    /ear«,  teach. 

71 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    activ 

She  knows  the  heat  of  a  luxurious  bed ; 
Her  blush  is  guiltiness,  not  modesty. 

Leon.   What  do  you  mean,  my  lord? 

Claud.  Not  to  be  married, 

Not  to  knit  my  soul  to  an  approved  wanton. 

Leon.   Dear  my  lord,  if  you,  in  your  own  proof. 
Have  vanquish'd  the  resistance  of  her  }  outh. 
And  made  defeat  of  her  virginity, — 

Claud.   I  know  what  you  would  say  :  if  I  have 
known  her, 
You  will  say  she  did  embrace  me  as  a  husband,        50 
And  so  extenuate  the  'forehand  sin  : 
No,  Leonato, 

I  never  tempted  her  with  word  too  large ; 
But,  as  a  brother  to  his  sister,  show'd 
Bashful  sincerity  and  comely  love. 

Hero.   And  seem'd  I  ever  otherwise  to  you  ? 

Claud.    Out  on  thee  !     Seeming  !     I  will  write 
against  it : 
You  seem  to  me  as  Dian  in  her  orb, 
As  chaste  as  is  the  bud  ere  it  be  blown  ; 
But  you  are  more  intemperate  in  your  blood  60 

Than  Venus,  or  those  pamper'd  animals 
That  rage  in  savage  sensuality. 

LLero.   Is  my  lord  well,  that  he  doth  speak  so 
wide? 

Leon.   Sweet  prince,  why  speak  not  jou  ? 

D.  Pedro.  "What  should  I  speak  ? 

I  stand  dishonour'd,  that  have  gone  about 
To  link  my  dear  friend  to  a  common  stale. 

Leon.    Are  these  things   spoken,   or   do    I   but 
dream  ? 


42.    luxurious,  lustful.  51.  the  ^forehand  sin,  an  net 

45.  approved,  proved.  which  was   sinful  only  because 

46.  in  your  own  proof,  your-       premature. 

self  making  trial  of  her.  53.   large,  free,  loose. 

72 


sc.  I       Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

D.  John.  Sir,  they  are  spoken,  and  these  things 
are  true. 

Bene,  This  looks  not  Hke  a  nuptial. 

Hero.  True  !  O  God  ! 

Claud.   Leonato,  stand  I  here?  70 

Is  tiiis  the  prince  ?  is  this  the  prince's  brother  ? 
Is  this  face  Hero's  ?  are  our  eyes  our  own  ? 

Leon.   All  this  is  so  :   but  what  of  this,  my  lord  ? 

Claud.   Let  me  but  move  one  question  to  your 
daughter  ; 
And,  by  that  fatherly  and  kindly  power 
That  you  have  in  her,  bid  her  answer  truly, 

Leon.   I   charge   thee   do   so,   as    thou   art    my 
child. 

Hero.  O,  God  defend  me !  how  am  I  beset ! 
What  kind  of  catechising  call  you  this  ? 

Claud.  To  make  you  answer  truly  to  your  name.    80 

Hero.   Is  it  not  Hero  ?  Who  can  blot  that  name 
With  any  just  reproach  ? 

Claud.  Marry,  that  can  Hero  ; 

Hero  itself  can  blot  out  Hero's  virtue. 
What  man  was  he  talk'd  with  you  yesternight 
Out  at  your  window  betwixt  twelve  and  one  ? 
Now,  if  you  are  a  maid,  ans»ver  to  this. 

Hero.   I  talk'd  with  no  man  at  that  hour,  my 
lord. 

D.  Pedro.     Why,    then    are    you    no    maiden. 
Leonato, 
I  am  sorry  you  must  hear :  upon  mine  honour, 
Myself,  my  brother  and  this  grieved  count  90 

Did  see  her,  hear  her,  at  that  hour  last  night 
Talk  with  a  ruffian  at  her  chamber-window; 
Who  hath  indeed,  most  like  a  liberal  villain, 
Confess'd  the  vile  encounters  they  have  had 
A  thousand  times  in  secret. 

93.   liberal,  licentious. 

73 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  iv 

D.  John.   Fie,  fie !  they  are  not  to  be  named, 
my  lord, 
Not  to  be  spoke  of; 

There  is  not  chastity  enough  in  language 
Without  offence  to  utter  them.     Thus,  pretty  lady, 
I  am  sorry  for  thy  much  misgovernment.  loo 

Claud.   O  Hero,  what  a  Hero  hadst  thou  been, 
If  half  thy  outward  graces  had  been  placed 
About  thy  thoughts  and  counsels  of  thy  heart ! 
But  fare  thee  well,  most  foul,  most  fair !  farewell, 
Thou  pure  impiety  and  impious  purity  ! 
For  thee  I  '11  lock  up  all  the  gates  of  love, 
And  on  my  eyelids  shall  conjecture  hang, 
To  turn  all  beauty  into  thoughts  of  harm, 
And  never  shall  it  more  be  gracious. 

Leoji.   Hath  no  man's  dagger  here  a  point  for 
me  ?  \Hcro  sivoons.   no 

Beat.  Why,  how  now,   cousin  !  wherefore   sink 
you  down  ? 

D.  Jolvi.  Come,  let  us  go.     These  things,  come 
thus  to  light, 
Smother  her  spirits  up. 

[Exeunt  Don  Pedro,  Don  John,  and  Claudio. 

Bene.   How  doth  the  lady? 

Beat.  Dead,  I  think.      Help,  uncle ! 

Hero!  why,HeroI  Uncle!  Signior  Benedick!  Friar! 

Leon.   O  Fate  !  take  not  away  thy  heavy  hand. 
Death  is  the  fairest  cover  for  her  shame 
That  may  be  wish'd  for. 

Beat.  How  now,  cousin  Hero  ! 

Friar.   Have  comfort,  lady. 

Leon.   Dost  thou  look  up?  120 

Friar.   Yea,  wherefore  should  she  not? 

I^on.  Wherefore  !     Why,  doth  not  every  earthly 


thing 


107.   conjecture,  suspicion. 

74 


sc.  1       Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Cry  shame  upon  her  ?     Could  she  here  deny 

The  story  that  is  printed  in  her  blood  ? 

Do  not  live,  Hero  ;  do  not  ope  thine  eyes  : 

For,  did  I  think  thou  wouldst  not  quickly  die, 

Thought  I  thy  spirits  were  stronger  than  thy  shames, 

Myself  would,  on  the  rearward  of  reproaches. 

Strike  at  thy  life.      Grieved  I,  I  had  but  one  ? 

Chid  I  for  that  at  frugal  nature's  frame  ?  130 

O,  one  too  much  by  thee  !     Why  had  I  one  ? 

Why  ever  wast  thou  lovely  in  my  eyes  ? 

Why  had  I  not  with  charitable  hand 

Took  up  a  beggar's  issue  at  my  gates, 

Who  smirched  thus  and  mired  with  infamy, 

I  might  have  said  '  No  part  of  it  is  mine  ; 

This  shame  derives  itself  from  unknown  loins  '  ? 

But  mine  and  mine  I  loved  and  mine  I  praised 

And  mine  that  I  was  proud  on,  mine  so  much 

That  I  myself  was  to  myself  not  mine,  140 

Valuing  of  her, — why,  she,  O,  she  is  fallen 

Into  a  pit  of  ink,  that  the  wide  sea 

Hath  drops  too  few  to  wash  her  clean  again 

And  salt  too  little  which  may  season  give 

To  her  foul-tainted  flesh  ! 

Bene.  Sir,  sir,  be  patient. 

For  my  part,  I  am  so  attired  in  wonder, 
I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Beat.  O,  on  my  soul,  my  cousin  is  belied  ! 

Bene.   Lady,  were  you  her  bedfellow  last  night  ? 

Beat.   No,  truly  not ;  although,  until  last  night,    150 
I  have  this  twelvemonth  been  her  bedfellow. 

Leon.   Confirm'd,  confirm'd  !    O,  that  is  stronger 
made 
Which  was  before  barr'd  up  with  ribs  of  iron ! 
Would  the  two  princes  lie,  and  Claudio  lie. 
Who  loved  her  so,  that,  speaking  of  her  foulness, 
Wash'd  it  with  tears?     Hence  from  her!  let  her  die. 

75 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  iv 

Friar.  Hear  me  a  little  ; 
For  I  have  only  been  silent  so  long 
And  given  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune, 
By  noting  of  the  lady  :  I  have  mark'd  i6o 

A  thousand  blushing  apparitions 
To  start  into  her  face  ;  a  thousand  innocent  shames 
In  angel  whiteness  beat  away  those  blushes ; 
And  in  her  eye  there  hath  appear'd  a  fire, 
To  burn  the  errors  that  these  princes  hold 
Against  her  maiden  truth.     Call  me  a  fool ; 
Trust  not  my  reading  nor  my  observations, 
Which  with  experimental  seal  doth  warrant 
The  tenour  of  my  book  ;  trust  not  rny  age, 
My  reverence,  calling,  nor  divinity,  170 

If  this  sweet  lady  lie  not  guiltless  here 
Under  some  biting  error. 

Leoti.  Friar,  it  cannot  be. 

Thou  seest  that  all  the  grace  that  she  hath  left 
Is  that  she  will  not  add  to  her  damnation 
A  sin  of  perjury  ;  she  not  denies  it : 
Why  seek'st  thou  then  to  cover  with  excuse 
That  which  appears  in  proper  nakedness  ? 

Friar.   Lady,  wliat  man  is  he  you  are  accused  of? 

Hero.   They  know  that  do  accuse  me ;  I  know 
none  : 
If  I  know  more  of  any  man  alive  180 

Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant, 
Let  all  my  sins  lack  mercy  !     O  my  father. 
Prove  you  that  any  man  with  me  conversed 
At  hours  unmeet,  or  that  I  yesternight 
Maintain'd  the  change  of  words  with  any  creature. 
Refuse  me,  hate  me,  torture  me  to  death  ! 

Friar.  There  is  some  strange  misprision  in  the 
princes. 

168.     experimental  seal,    the  187.     misprision,     misappre- 

seal  of  experience.  bension. 

76 


SC.  I 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


Be?ie.   Two    of  them    have    the    very    bent    of 
honour ; 
And  if  their  wisdoms  be  misled  in  this, 
The  practice  of  it  Hves  in  John  the  bastard,  190 

Whose  spirits  toil  in  frame  of  villanies. 

Leon.  I  know  not.    If  they  speak  but  truth  of  her. 
These  hands   shall   tear  her ;    if  they  wrong   her 

honour, 
The  Droudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it. 

J. 

Time  hath  not  yet  so  dried  this  blood  of  mine, 

Nor  age  so  eat  up  my  invention, 

Nor  fortune  made  such  havoc  of  my  means, 

Nor  my  bad  life  reft  me  so  much  of  friends, 

But  they  shall  find,  awaked  in  such  a  kind, 

Both  strength  of  limb  and  policy  of  mind,  200 

Ability  in  means  and  choice  of  friends, 

To  quit  me  of  them  throughly. 

Friar.  Pause  awhile, 

And  let  my  counsel  sway  you  in  this  case. 
Your  daughter  here  the  princes  left  for  dead : 
Let  her  awhile  be  secretly  kept  in. 
And  publish  it  that  she  is  dead  indeed  j 
Maintain  a  mourning  ostentation, 
And  on  your  family's  old  monument 
Hang  mournful  epitaphs,  and  do  all  rites 
That  appertain  unto  a  burial.  210 

Leon.    What   shall   become  of  this?    what  will 
this  do  ? 

Friar.   Marry,   this   well    carried   shall   on    her 
behalf 
Change  slander  to  remorse  ;  that  is  some  good  : 
But  not  for  that  dream  I  on  this  strange  course, 
But  on  this  travail  look  for  greater  birth. 
She  dying,  as  it  must  be  so  maintain'd, 
Upon  the  instant  that  she  was  accused, 

190.  practice,  artifice.  191.  inframe,  in  the  framing. 

77 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  iv 

Shall  be  lamented,  pitied  and  excused 

Of  every  hearer  :  for  it  so  falls  out 

That  what  we  have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth  aao 

Whiles  we  enjoy  it,  but  being  lack'd  and  lost, 

Why,  then  we  rack  the  value,  then  we  find 

The  virtue  that  possession  would  not  show  us 

Whiles  it  was  ours.     So  will  it  fare  with  Claudio : 

When  he  shall  hear  she  died  upon  his  words, 

The  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 

Into  his  study  of  imagination, 

And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 

Shall  come  apparell'd  in  more  precious  habit, 

More  moving-delicate  and  full  of  life,  330 

Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul, 

Than  when  she  lived  indeed ;  then  shall  he  mourn, 

If  ever  love  had  interest  in  his  liver, 

And  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her. 

No,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  true. 

Let  this  be  so,  and  doubt  not  but  success 

Will  fashion  the  event  in  better  shape 

Than  I  can  lay  it  down  in  likelihood. 

But  if  all  aim  but  this  be  levell'd  false, 

The  supposition  of  the  lady's  death  240 

Will  quench  the  wonder  of  her  infamy : 

And  if  it  sort  not  well,  you  may  conceal  her, 

As  best  befits  her  wounded  reputation, 

In  some  reclusive  and  religious  life, 

Out  of  all  eyes,  tongues,  minds  and  injuries. 

Bene.   Siguier  Leonato,  let  the  friar  advise  you : 
And  though  you  know  my  inwardness  and  love 
Is  very  much  unto  the  prince  and  Claudio, 
Yet,  by  mine  honour,  I  will  deal  in  this 

222.    rack,   i.e.    strain   to    its  233.     liver,    '  heart.'       Both 

titmost  extent.  organs   were   conventionally  re 

227.  /lis  stjidy  of  imagination,  garded  as  seats  of  the  passions. 
his  brooding  fancy.  236.  success,  the  issue. 

78 


SC.  I 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


As  secretly  and  justly  as  your  soul  aso 

Should  with  your  body. 

Leon.  Being  that  I  flow  in  grief, 

The  smallest  twine  may  lead  me. 

Friar.  'Tis  well  consented  :  presently  away  ; 
For  to  strange  sores  strangely  they  strain  the  cure. 
Come,  lady,  die  to  live :  this  wedding-day 

Perhaps  is  but  prolong'd :    have   patience  and 
endure. 

\Exeunt  all  but  Benedick  and  Beatrice, 
Bene.   Lady  Beatrice,    have   you   wept   all   this 

while  ? 
Beat.  Yea,  and  I  will  weep  a  while  longer. 
Bene.   I  will  not  desire  that. 

Beat.  You  have  no  reason  ;  I  do  it  freely.  260 

Bene.  Surely  I  do  believe  your  fair  cousin  is 
wronged. 

Beat.  Ah,  how  much  might  the  man  deserve  of 
me  that  would  right  her  ! 

Bene.   Is  there  any  way  to  show  such  friendship  ? 
Beat.   A  very  even  way,  but  no  such  friend. 
Be?ie.   May  a  man  do  it? 
Beat.  It  is  a  man's  office,  but  not  yours. 
Bene.  I  do  love  nothing  in  the  world  so  well  as 
you  :  is  not  that  strange  ?  270 

Beat.  As  strange  as  the  thing  I  know  not.  It 
were  as  possible  for  me  to  say  I  loved  nothing  so 
well  as  you :  but  believe  me  not ;  and  yet  I  lie 
not ;  I  confess  nothing,  nor  I  deny  nothing.  I 
am  sorry  for  my  cousin. 

Bene.   By  my  sword,  Beatrice,  thou  lovest  me. 
Beat.   Do  not  swear,  and  eat  it. 
Bene.  I  will  swear  by  it  that  you  love  me ;  and 
I  will  make  him  eat  it  that  says  I  love  not  you. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  eat  your  word  ?  380 

256.  prolon^d,  deferred. 

79 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  iv 

Bene.  With  no  sauce  that  can  be  devised  to  it. 
1  protest  I  love  thee. 

Beat.  Why,  then,  God  forgive  me ! 

Bene.  What  oftence,  sweet  Beatrice  ? 

Beat.  You  have  stayed  me  in  a  happy  hour :  I 
was  about  to  protest  I  loved  you. 

Bene.  And  do  it  with  all  thy  heart. 

Beat.  I  love  you  with  so  much  of  my  heart  that 
none  is  left  to  protest. 

Be?ie.   Come,  bid  me  do  any  thing  for  thee.  290 

Beat.   Kill  Claudio. 

Bene.   Ha  !  not  for  the  wide  world. 

Beat.  You  kill  me  to  deny  it.     Farewell. 

Bene.  Tarry,  sweet  Beatrice. 

Beat.  I  am  gone,  though  I  am  here  :  there  is 
no  love  in  you  :  nay,  I  pray  you,  let  me  go. 

Betie.   Beatrice, — 

Beat.   In  faith,  I  will  go. 

Bene.   We  '11  be  friends  first. 

Beat.  You  dare  easier  be  friends  with  me  than  300 
fight  with  mine  enemy. 

Betie.   Is  Claudio  thine  enemy  ? 

Beat.  Is  he  not  approved  in  the  height  a  villain, 
that  hath  slandered,  scorned,  dishonoured  my 
kinswoman  ?  O  that  I  were  a  man  !  What,  bear 
her  in  hand  until  they  come  to  take  hands ;  and 
then,  with  public  accusation,  uncovered  slander, 
unmitigated  rancour, — O  God,  that  I  were  a  man  ! 
I  would  eat  his  heart  in  the  market-place. 

Bene.  Hear  me,  Beatrice, —  3x0 

Beat.  Talk  with  a  man  out  at  a  window !  A 
proper  saying  ! 

Bene.   Nay,  but,  Beatrice, — 

Beat.  Sweet  Hero !  She  is  wronged,  she  is 
slandered,  she  is  undone. 

305.  bear  her  in  hand,  delude  her  with  false  hopes. 
80 


sc.  11      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Bene.   Beat — 

Beat.  Princes  and  counties  !  Surely,  a  princely 
testimony,  a  goodly  count,  Count  Comfect;  a 
sweet  gallant,  surely  !  O  that  I  were  a  man  for 
his  sake  !  or  that  I  had  any  friend  would  be  a  320 
man  for  my  sake  !  But  manhood  is  melted  into 
courtesies,  valour  into  compliment,  and  men  are 
only  turned  into  tongue,  and  trim  ones  too  :  he  is 
now  as  valiant  as  Hercules  that  only  tells  a  lie 
and  swears  it.  I  cannot  be  a  man  with  wishing, 
therefore  I  will  die  a  woman  with  srievinsi. 

Bene.  Tarry,  good  Beatrice.  By  this  hand,  I 
love  thee. 

Beat.  Use  it  for  my  love  some  other  way  than 
swearing  by  it.  330 

Bene.  Think  you  in  your  soul  the  Count  Claudio 
hath  wronged  Hero  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  as  sure  as  I  have  a  thought  or  a 
soul. 

Bene.  Enough,  I  am  engaged  ;  I  will  challenge 
him.  I  will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  I  leave  you. 
By  this  hand,  Claudio  shall  render  me  a  dear 
account.  As  you  hear  of  me,  so  think  of  me. 
Go,  comfort  your  cousin  :  I  must  say  she  is  dead  : 
and  so,  farewell.  [Exeunt.  340 


Scene  H.     A  prison. 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  Sexton,  in  goums ; 
and  the  Watch,  with  Conrade  and  Borachio. 

Dog.   Is  our  whole  dissembly  appeared  ? 
Verg.  O,  a  stool  and  a  cushion  for  the  sexton. 
Sex.  Which  be  the  malefactors  ? 

317.   counties,  counts. 
318.    Comfect,  confit,  sweetmeat. 

VOL.  Ill  81  G 


sc.  II      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

examine :  you  must  call  forth  the  watch  that  are 
their  accusers. 

Dog.  Yea,  marry,  that 's  the  eftest  way.  Let 
the  watch  come  forth.  Masters,  I  charge  you, 
in  the  prince's  name,  accuse  these  men.  40 

First  Watch.  This  man  said,  sir,  that  Don  John, 
the  prince's  brother,  was  a  villain. 

Dog.  Write  down  Prince  John  a  villain.  Why, 
this  is  flat  perjury,  to  call  a  prince's  brother  villain. 

Bora.   Master  constable, 

Dog.  Pray  thee,  fellow,  peace :  I  do  not  like 
thy  look,  I  promise  thee. 

Sex.  What  heard  you  him  say  else  ? 

Sec.    Watch.     Marry,    that    he  had    received    a 
thousand  ducats   of  Don   John  for  accusing  the    50 
Lady  Hero  wrongfully. 

Dog.   Flat  burglary  as  ever  was  committed. 

Verg.  Yea,  by  mass,  that  it  is. 

Sex.   What  else,  fellow  ? 

First  Watch.  And  that  Count  Claudio  did 
mean,  upon  his  words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before 
the  whole  assembly,  and  not  marry  her. 

Dog.  O  villain  !  thou  wilt  be  condemned  into 
everlasting  redemption  for  this. 

Sex.   What  else  ?  60 

Watch.   This  is  all. 

Sex.  And  this  is  more,  masters,  than  you  can 
deny.  Prince  John  is  this  morning  secretly  stolen 
away ;  Hero  was  in  this  manner  accused,  in  this 
very  manner  refused,  and  upon  the  grief  of  this 
suddenly  died.  Master  constable,  let  these  men 
be  bound,  and  brought  to  Leonato's :  I  will  go 
before  and  show  him  their  examination.         \Exit. 

Dog.  Come,  let  them  be  opinioned. 

38.  eftest,  quickest,  most  con-      between    '  eftsoons,    soon,    and 
venient  ;    probably  a  confusion      'deftest.' 

83 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing    act  iv 

Dog.   Marry,  that  am  I  and  my  partner. 

Verg.  Nay,  that 's  certain  ;  we  have  the  exhibi- 
tion to  examine. 

Sex.  But  which  are  the  offenders  that  are  to 
be  examined  ?  let  them  come  before  master  con- 
stable. 

Dog.  Yea,   marry,   let   them  come  before  me.    lo 
What  is  your  name,  friend  ? 

Bora.   Borachio. 

Dog.  Pray,  write  down,  Borachio.  Yours, 
sirrah  ? 

Con.  I  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name  is 
Conrade. 

Dog.  Write  down,  master  gentleman  Conrade. 
Masters,  do  you  serve  God  ? 

Dog.  Write  down,  that  they  hope  they  serve  20 
God :  and  write  God  first ;  for  God  defend  but 
God  should  go  before  such  villains  !  Masters,  it 
is  proved  already  that  you  are  little  better  than 
false  knaves  ;  and  it  will  go  near  to  be  thought  so 
shordy.      How  answer  you  for  yourselves  ? 

Con.   Marry,  sir,  we  say  we  are  none. 

Dog.  A  marvellous  witty  fellow,  I  assure  you ; 
but  I  will  go  about  with  him.  Come  you  hither, 
sirrah  ;  a  word  in  your  ear  :  sir,  I  say  to  you,  it  is 
thought  you  are  false  knaves.  30 

Bora.  Sir,  I  say  to  you  we  are  none. 

Dog.  Well,  stand  aside.  'Fore  God,  they  are 
both  in  a  .tale.  Have  you  writ  down,  that  they 
are  none? 

Sex.  Master  constable,  you  go  not  the  way  to 

5.   the  exhibition  to  examine,      ally  conduct), 
probably   for    '  the  examination 
to  exhibit'  {i.e.   present,   offici-  21.   defend,  forbid. 

82 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing      actv 

Verg.   Let  them  be  in  the  hands —  70 

Con.  Off,  coxcomb  ! 

Dog.  God 's  my  life,  Avhere  's  the  sexton  ?  let 
him  write  down  the  prince's  officer  coxcomb. 
Come,  bind  them.      Thou  naughty  varlet ! 

Con.   Away  !  you  are  an  ass,  you  are  an  ass. 

Bog.  Dost  thou  not  suspect  my  place?  dost 
thou  not  suspect  my  years  ?  O  that  he  were  here 
to  write  me  down  an  ass !  But,  masters,  re- 
member that  I  am  an  ass ;  though  it  be  not 
written  down,  yet  forget  not  that  I  am  an  ass.  80 
No,  thou  villain,  thou  art  full  of  piety,  as  shall  be 
proved  upon  thee  by  good  witness.  I  am  a  wise 
fellow,  and,  which  is  more,  an  officer,  and,  which 
is  more,  a  householder,  and,  which  is  more,  as 
pretty  a  piece  of  flesh  as  any  is  in  Messina,  and 
one  that  knows  the  law,  go  to ;  and  a  rich  fellow 
enough,  go  to ;  and  a  fellow  that  hath  had  losses, 
and  one  that  hath  two  gowns  and  every  thing 
handsome  about  him.  Bring  him  away.  O  that 
I  had  been  writ  down  an  ass  !  [Exettnt.    90 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.     Before  Leonato's  house 

Enter  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Ant.   If  you  go  on  thus,  you  will  kill  yourself; 
And  'tis  not  wisdom  thus  to  second  grief 

JO,  71.   Let  ...  coxcomb.     Q  ('Sexton').       Warburton    pro- 

and    Ff  print    this    as  a  single  posed  the  divisions  followed  in 

speech,  which  Q  s'ves  to  Verges  the  text. 
(■Cowley  ')  and  I-'f  to  Dogberry 

84 


SC.  I 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


Against  yourself. 

Leon.  I  pray  thee,  cease  thy  counsel, 

Which  falls  into  mine  ears  as  profitless 
As  water  in  a  sieve  :  give  not  me  counsel ; 
Nor  let  no  comforter  delight  mine  ear 
But  such  a  one  whose  wrongs  do  suit  with  mine. 
Bring  me  a  father  that  so  loved  his  child, 
Whose  joy  of  her  is  overwhelm'd  like  mine. 
And  bid  him  speak  of  patience  ;  lo 

Measure  his  woe  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine, 
And  let  it  answer  every  strain  for  strain, 
As  thus  for  thus  and  such  a  grief  for  such. 
In  every  lineament,  branch,  shape,  and  form : 
If  such  a  one  will  smile,  and  stroke  his  beavd, 
Bid  sorrow  w-ag,  cry  '  hem ! '  when  he  should  groan, 
Patch  grief  with  proverbs,  make  misfortune  drunk 
With  candle-wasters  ;  bring  him  yet  to  me. 
And  I  of  him  will  gather  patience. 
But  there  is  no  such  man  :  for,  brother,  men  20 

Can  counsel  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 
Which  they  themselves  not  feel ;  but,  tasting  it, 
Their  counsel  turns  to  passion,  which  before 
Would  give  preceptial  medicine  to  rage, 
Fetter  strong  madness  in  a  silken  thread. 
Charm  ache  with  air  and  agony  with  words  : 
No,  no ;  'tis  all  men's  office  to  speak  patience 
To  those  that  wring  under  the  load  of  sorrow, 
But  no  man's  virtue  nor  sufficiency 

12.   answer  every  strain  for  ject  of  '  patch  grief,"  etc. 

strain,     correspond,     pang    for  17.    make   .    .    .    drunk    with 

pang  (with  my  woe).  candle-wasters,    drown   grief   in 

16.   Bid  sorrow  wag,    bid    it  converse    with    hard    students, 

go  its  way,  dismiss  it.      This  is  '  Candle-waster '   was    a    recog- 

Capell's  emendation  for  Q  and  nised  equivalent  for 'bookworm.' 

Ff,  '  and  sorrow,  wag,  cry  hem,  24.   preceptial   medicine,    re- 

when  he  should  groan.'     This  medial  precepts, 

would  make  'sorrow'  the  sub-  28.   wring,  writhe. 

85 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing      actv 

To  be  so  moral  when  he  shall  endure  30 

The  like  himself.     Therefore  give  me  no  counsel : 
My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisement. 

Ant.    Therein  do   men   from   children  nothing 
differ.  * 

Leon.   I  pray  thee,  peace.      I  will  be  flesh  and 
blood ; 
For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher 
That  could  endure  the  toothache  patiently, 
However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods 
And  made  a  push  at  chance  and  sufferance. 

Ant.  Yet  bend  not  all  the  harm  upon  yourself; 
Make  those  that  do  offend  you  suffer  too.  40 

Leon.  There  t!:ou  speak'st  reason  :  nay,  I  will 
do  so. 
My  soul  doth  tell  me  Hero  is  belied  ; 
And  that  shall  Claudio  know ;  so  shall  the  prince 
And  all  of  them  that  thus  dishonour  her. 

A7it.   Here  comes  the  prince  and  Claudio  hastily. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  den,  good  den. 

Claud.  Good  day  to  both  of  you. 

Leon.   Hear  you,  my  lords, — 

D.  Pedro.  \\'e  have  some  haste,  Leonato. 

Leon.   Some  haste,  my  lord  !  well,  fare  you  well, 
my  lord  : 
Are  you  so  hasty  now?  well,  all  is  one. 

D.  Pedro.   Nay,  do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good  old 
man.  so 

A7it.    If  he  could  right  himself  with  quarrelling, 
Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 

Claud.  Who  wrongs  him  ? 

30.    so  moral,  so  full  of  moral  precepts. 
32.    advertisement,  counsel. 

86 


sc.  I       Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Leo7t.    Marry,  thou  dost  wrong  me;   thou  dis- 
sembler, thou : — 
Nay,  never  lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  sword ; 
I  fear  thee  not. 

Claud.  Marry,  beshrew  my  hand. 

If  it  should  give  your  age  such  cause  of  fear : 
In  faith,  my  Iiand  meant  nothing  to  my  sword. 

Leon.   I'ush,  tush,  man  ;  never  fleer  and  jest  at 
me  : 
I  speak  not  like  a  dotard  nor  a  fool, 
As  under  privilege  of  age  to  brag  60 

What  I  have  done  being  young,  or  what  would  do 
Were  I  not  old.      Know,  Claud io,  to  thy  head, 
Thou  hast  so  wrong'd  mine  innocent  child  and  me 
That  I  am  forced  to  lay  my  reverence  by 
And,  with  grey  hairs  and  bruise  of  many  days, 
Do  challenge  thee  to  trial  of  a  man. 
I  say  thou  hast  belied  mine  innocent  child ; 
Thy  slander  hath  gone  through  and  through  her 

heart, 
And  she  lies  buried  with  her  ancestors ; 
O,  in  a  tomb  where  never  scandal  slept,  70 

Save  this  of  hers,  framed  by  thy  villany ! 

Claud.  My  villany  ? 

Leon.  Thine,  Claudio  ;  thine,  I  say. 

D.  Pedro.  You  say  not  right,  old  man. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord, 

I  '11  prove  it  on  his  body,  if  he  dare, 
Despite  his  nice  fence  and  his  active  practice. 
His  May  of  youth  and  bloom  of  lustihood. 

Claud.   Away !  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Leon.  Canst  thou  so  daff  me  ?     Thou  hast  kill'd 
my  child : 
If  thou  kill'st  me,  boy,  thou  shalt  kill  a  man. 

58.  fleer,  grin.  65.   bruise  of  many  days,  fur- 

62.  to  thy  head,  to  thy  face.        rows  of  age. 

87 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     actv 

Afit    He  shall  kill  two  of  us,  and  men  indeed  :     So 
But  that 's  no  matter  ;  let  him  kill  one  first ; 
Win  me  and  wear  me  ;  let  him  answer  m.e. 
Come,  follow  me,  boy ;  come,  sir  boy,  come,  follow 

me  : 
Sir  boy,  I  '11  whip  you  from  your  foining  fence ; 
Nay,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  will. 

Leon.    Brother, — 

Ant.  Content  yourself.      God  knows   I   loved 
my  niece ; 
And  she  is  dead,  slander'd  to  death  by  villains, 
That  dare  as  well  answer  a  man  indeed 
As  I  dare  take  a  serpent  by  the  tongue  :  90 

Boys,  apes,  braggarts,  Jacks,  milksops  ! 

Leon.  Brother  Antony, — 

Ant.   Hold  you  content.     What,  man  !  I  know 
them,  yea. 
And  what  they  weigh,  even  to  the  utmost  scruple,— 
Scambling,  out-facing,  fashion-monging  boys, 
That  lie  and  cog  and  flout,  deprave  and  slander, 
Go  anticly,  show  outward  hideousness, 
And  ^.peak  off  half  a  dozen  dangerous  words, 
How  they  might  hurt  their  enemies,  if  they  durst ; 
And  tliis  is  all. 

Leon.   But,  brother  Antony, — 

Ant  Come,  'tis  no  matter :  100 

Do  not  you  meddle  ;  let  me  deal  in  this. 

D.  Pedro.   (Gentlemen  both,  we  will  not  wake 
your  patience. 
My  heart  is  sorry  for  your  daughter's  death  : 
But,  on  my  honour,  she  was  charged  with  nothing 
But  what  was  true  and  very  full  of  proof. 

84.  foining,  thrasliing.  mongering,  foppish. 

94.    Scambling,  scrambling.  95-   <:cg<  cl^eat. 

.  y  /•    •    '   u  f      J  'b-  A"'-  mock. 

lb.   ont.facing,  brazen-faced.  ^^      ^„/.^/^_    ^j.^   ^^    ^^^ic. 

ib.  fashion-monging,  fashion-      fantastically. 

88 


SC.  I 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


Leon.   My  lord,  my  lord, — 

D.  Pedro.   I  will  not  hear  you. 

Leon.  No  ?     Come,  brother ;   away  !    I  will  be 

heard. 
Ant.  And  shall,  or  some  of  us  will  smart  for  it. 
\Exeiint  Leonato  and  Anfonio. 
D.  Pedro.   See,  see ;    here  comes  the  man  we 

went  to  seek.  no 

Enter  Benedick. 

Claud.   Now,  signior,  what  news? 

Betie.  Good  day,  my  lord.  . 

D.  Pedro.  Welcome,  signior :  you  are  almost 
come  to  part  almost  a  fray. 

Claud.  We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noses 
snapped  off  with  two  old  men  without  teeth. 

D.  Pedro.  Leonato  and  his  brother.  What 
thinkest  thou  ?  Had  we  fought,  I  doubt  we  should 
have  been  too  young  for  them. 

Bene.   In  a  false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valour.  120 
I  came  to  seek  you  both. 

Claud.  We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek 
thee  ;  for  we  are  high-proof  melancholy  and  would 
fain  have  it  beaten  away.     ^^' ilt  thou  use  thy  wit  ? 

Bene.    It  is  in  my  scabbard  :  shall  I  draw  it  ? 

D.  Pedro.   Dost  thou  wear  thy  wit  by  thy  side? 

Claud.  Never  any  did  so,  though  very  many 
have  been  beside  their  wit.  I  will  bid  thee  draw, 
as  we  do  the  minstrels ;  draw,  to  pleasure  us. 

D.  Pedro.  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  he  looks  130 
pale.     Art  thou  sick,  or  angry  ? 

Claud.  What,    courage,   man  !      What    though 

123.     high -proof  melancholy,  129.    as  zve  do  the  minstrels, 

melancholy  to    the  highest  de-      i.e.  as  we  bid  them  draw  their 
gree.  bows  across  their  instruments. 

89 


SC.  I 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


Bene.   Sir,  your  wit  ambles  well ;  it  goes  easily. 

D.  Pedro.  I  '11  tell  thee  how  Beatrice  praised  160 
thy  wit  the  other  day.  I  said,  thou  hadst  a  fine 
wit :  '  True,'  said  she,  *  a  fine  little  one.'  '  No,' 
said  I,  '  a  great  wit : '  '  Right,'  says  she,  *  a  great 
gross  one.'  'Nay,'  said  I,  'a  good  wit:'  'Just,' 
said  she,  '  it  hurts  nobody.'  '  Nay,'  said  I,  '  the 
gentleman  is  wise  : '  '  Certain,'  said  she,  '  a  wise 
gentleman.'  'Nay,'  said  I,  'he  hath  ihe  tongues  :' 
'That  I  believe,'  said  she,  'for  he  swore  a  thing 
to  me  on  Monday  night,  which  he  forswore  on 
Tuesday  morning  ;  there 's  a  double  tongue  ;  170 
there 's  two  tongues.'  Thus  did  she,  an  hour 
together,  trans -shape  thy  particular  virtues  :  yet 
at  last  she  concluded  with  a  sigh,  thou  wast  the 
properest  man  in  Italy. 

Claud.  For  the  which  she  wept  heartily  and  said 
she  cared  not. 

D.  Fedro.  Yea,  that  she  did  ;  but  yet,  for  all 
that,  an  if  she  did  not  hate  him  deadly,  she  would 
love  him  dearly  :  the  old  man's  daughter  told  us 
all.  180 

Claud.  All,  all ;  and,  moreover,  God  saw  him 
when  he  was  hid  in  the  garden. 

D.  Pedro.  But  when  shall  we  set  the  savage 
bull's  horns  on  the  sensible  Benedick's  head? 

Claud.  Yea,  and  text  underneath,  '  Here  dwells 
Benedick  the  married  man'? 

Bene.  Fare  you  well,  boy  :  you  know  my  mind. 
I  will  leave  you  now  to  your  gossip-like  humour : 
you  break  jests  as  braggarts  do  their  blades,  which, 
God  be  thanked,   hurt  not.       My  lord,  for   your  190 

166.    '  a  wise  gentleman,'  one  do  their  blades,  fling  them  reck- 

with  more  discretion  than  valour.  lessly      out.        The     braggarts 

1 86.    Benedick    the    married  '  break '    their    blades     in    the 

man ;  cf.  i.  i.  269.  figurative    sense    suggested    by 

1 89.   break  jests  as  braggarts  the  '  breaking '  of  jests. 

91 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     actv 

care   killed   a  cat,    thou   hast    mettle    enough    in 
thee  to  kill  care. 

Bene.  Sir,  I  shall  meet  your  wit  in  the  career, 
an  you  charge  it  against  me.  I  pray  you  choose 
another  subject. 

Claud.  Nay,  then,  give  him  another  staff:  this 
last  was  broke  cross. 

D.  Pedro.   By  this  light,  he  changes  more  and  140 
more  :   I  think  he  be  angry  indeed. 

Claud.  If  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  turn  his 
girdle. 

Bene.   Shall  I  speak  a  word  in  your  ear  ? 

Claud.   God  bless  me  from  a  challenge  ! 

Betie.  [Aside  to  Claudio\  You  are  a  villain ;  I 
jest  not :  I  will  make  it  good  how  you  dare,  with 
what  you  dare,  and  when  you  dare.  Do  me  right, 
or  I  will  protest  your  cowardice.  You  have  killed 
a  sweet  lady,  and  her  death  shall  fall  heavy  on  you.  130 
Let  me  hear  from  3  ou. 

Claud.  Well,  I  will  meet  you,  so  I  may  have 
good  cheer. 

D.  Pedro.   What,  a  feast,  a  feast  ? 

Claud,  r  faith,  I  thank  him  ;  he  hath  bid  me 
to  a  calf's  head  and  a  capon  ;  the  which  if  I  do 
not  carve  most  curiously,  say  my  knife's  naught. 
Shall  1  not  find  a  woodcock  too  ? 

133.   care  killed  a  cat ;  'care  considered    disgraceful;     hence 

will  kill   a  cat '  was  a  proverb,  Claudio's  taunt, 

cats  having  nine  lives  and  being  142.   turn   his  girdle,  give  a 

hence  difficult  to  kill.  challenge.     To   turn  the  girdle 

135.    meet  in-  the  career,    tilt  so  that  the  clasp  was  at  the  rear 

against,    meet  with    a    counter-  instead  of  in  front,  was  part  of 

charge  (a  technical  phrase  of  the  the  preparation  for  a  wrestling 

tournament).  match  ;  hence  the  figure. 

156.   capon;  used  contemptu- 

138.  i/a/  lance.  ^^s^y^    Possibly  a  pun  on  (fool's) 

139.  broke  cross,  broken  across      '  cap  on.' 

the  opponent's  body.     This  was  158.  -woodcock,  \.q.  z.ioo\. 

90 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     act  v 

many  courtesies  I  thank  you  :  I  must  discontinue 
your  company  :  your  brother  the  bastard  is  fled 
from  Messina  :  you  have  among  you  killed  a  sweet 
and  innocent  lady.  For  my  Lord  Lackbeard  there, 
he  and  I  shall  meet ;  and,  till  then,  peace  be  with 
him.  [Exit. 

D.  Pedro.   He  is  in  earnest. 

Claud.  In  most  profound  earnest ;  and,  I  '11 
warrant  you,  for  the  love  of  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro.  And  hath  challenged  thee.  aoo 

Claud.   Most  sincerely. 

D.  Pedro.  What  a  pretty  thing  man  is  when  he 
goes  in  his  doublet  and  hose  and  leaves  off  his 
wit  1 

Claud.  He  is  then  a  giant  to  an  ape ;  but  then 
is  an  ape  a  doctor  to  such  a  man. 

D.  Pedro.  But,  soft  you,  let  me  be  :  pluck  up, 
my  heart,  and  be  sad.  Did  he  not  say,  my  brother 
was  fled? 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  the  Watch,  with 
CoNRADE  and  Borachio. 

Dog.   Come  you,  sir  :  if  justice  cannot  tame  you,  no 
she  shall  ne'er  weigh  more  reasons  in  her  balance : 
nay,  an  you  be  a  cursing  hypocrite  once,  you  must 
be  looked  to. 

D.  Pedro.   How  now  ?  two  of  my  brother's  men 
bound  !     Borachio  one  ! 

Claud.   Hearken  after  their  offence,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.     Officers,    what    off'ence    have    these 
men  done? 

202.  ti'hcn  he  goes  in  hisdoublet  doublet  and  hose).      There  is  a 

and  hose  and  leaves  off  his  wit,  sub-allusion    to   the    custom    of 

i.e.  puts  off  his  proper  apparel  taking  off  the  cloak  before  fight- 

of  good  sense  (compared  to  the  ing  a  duel. 
cloak    usually   worn    over    the  208.  sad,  serious. 

92 


sc.  I       Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Dog.  Marry,  sir,  they  have  committed  false 
report ;  moreover,  they  have  spoken  untruths ;  220 
secondarily,  they  are  slanders  ;  sixth  and  lastly, 
they  have  belied  a  lady  ;  thirdly,  they  have  veri- 
fied unjust  things;  and,  to  conclude,  they  are  lying 
knaves. 

D.  Pedro.  First,  I  ask  thee  what  they  have 
(lone :  thirdly,  I  ask  thee  what 's  their  offence : 
sixth  and  lastly,  why  they  are  committed;  and, 
to  conclude,  what  you  lay  to  their  charge. 

Claud.    Rightly  reasoned,  and  in  his  own  divi- 
sion ;  and,  by  my  troth,  there  's  one  meaning  well  23a 
suited. 

D.  Pedro.  "Who  have  you  offended,  masters, 
that  you  are  thus  bound  to  your  answer  ?  this 
learned  constable  is  too  cunning  to  be  understood ; 
what 's  your  offence  ? 

Bora.  Sweet  prince,  let  me  go  no  farther  to 
mine  answer  :  do  you  hear  me,  and  let  this  count 
kill  me.  I  have  deceived  even  your  very  eyes : 
what  your  wisdoms  could  not  discover,  these 
shallow  fools  have  brought  to  light ;  who  in  the  240 
night  overheard  me  confessing  to  this  man  how 
Don  John  your  brother  incensed  me  to  slander 
the  Lady  Hero,  how  you  were  brought  into  the 
orchard  and  saw  me  court  Margaret  in  Hero's 
garments,  how  you  disgraced  her,  when  you 
should  marry  her :  my  villany  they  have  upon 
record  ;  which  I  had  rather  seal  with  my  death 
than  repeat  over  to  my  shame.  The  lady  is  dead 
upon  mine  arid  my  master's  false  accusation ;  and, 
briefly,  I  desire  nothing  but  the  reward  of  a  250 
villain. 

221.   slanders,  slanderers.  233.    bound   to  your  answer, 

229.     division,     distribution,       called  to  account, 
arrangement  (of  the  matter).  234.   cunning,  ingenious- 

93 


sc.  I       Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Leon.   No,  not  so,  villain  ;  thou  beliest  thyself: 
Here  stand  a  pair  of  honourable  men  ; 
A  third  is  fled,  that  had  a  hand  in  it. 
I  thank  you,  princes,  for  my  daughter's  death : 
Record  it  with  your  high  and  worthy  deeds  : 
'Twas  bravely  done,  if  you  bethink  you  of  it.  280 

Claud.   I  know  not  how  to  pray  your  patience ; 
Yet  I  must  speak.      Choose  your  revenge  yourself; 
Impose  me  to  what  penance  your  invention 
Can  lay  upon  my  sin  :  yet  sinn'd  I  not 
But  in  mistaking. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  soul,  nor  I : 

And  yet,  to  satisfy  this  good  old  man, 
I  would  bend  under  any  heavy  weight 
That  he  '11  enjoin  me  to. 

Leo}i.   I  cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live ; 
That  were  impossible  :  but,  I  pray  you  both, 
Possess  the  people  in  Messina  here  290 

How  innocent  she  died ;  and  if  your  love 
Can  labour  aught  in  sad  invention, 
Hang  her  an  epitaph  upon  her  tomb 
And  sing  it  to  her  bones,  sing  it  to-night : 
To-morrow  morning  come  you  to  my  house, 
And  since  you  could  not  be  my  son-in-law, 
Be  yet  my  nephew  :  my  brother  hath  a  daughter, 
Almost  the  copy  of  my  child  that 's  dead, 
And  she  alone  is  heir  to  both  of  us : 
Give  her  the  right  you  should  have  given  her  cousin,  300 
And  so  dies  my  revenge. 

C/aud.  O  noble  sir. 

Your  over-kindness  doth  wring  tears  from  me  ! 
I  do  embrace  your  offer  ;  and  dispose 
For  henceforth  of  poor  Claudio. 

Leon.   To-morrow  then  I  will  expect  your  coming; 
To-night  I  take  my  leave.     This  naughty  man 

290.    Possess,  inform.  306.   naughty,  wicked. 

95 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     actv 

D.  Pedro.   Runs  not  this  speech  like  iron  through 
your  blood  ? 

Claud.   I  have  drunk  poison  whiles  he  utter'd  it. 

D.  Pedro.   But  did  my  brother  set  thee  on  to 
this? 

Bora.  Yea,  and  paid  me  richly  for  the  practice 
of  it. 

D.  Pedro.     He    is    composed   and    framed    of 
treachery  : 
And  fled  he  is  upon  this  villany. 

Claud.  Sweet  Hero  !  now  thy  image  doth  appear 
In  the  rare  semblance  that  I  loved  it  first.  260 

Dog.  Come,  bring  away  the  plaintiffs  :  by  this 
time  our  sexton  hath  reformed  Signior  Leonato  of 
the  matter :  and,  masters,  do  not  forget  to  specify, 
when  time  and  place  shall  serve,  that  I  am  an 
ass, 

Ve7-g.  Here,  here  comes  master  Signior  Leonato, 
and  the  sexton  too. 

Re-enter  Leonato  and  Antonio,  with  the 
Sexton. 

Leon.  Which  is  the  villain  ?  let  me  see  his  eyes, 
That,  when  I  note  another  man  like  him, 
I  may  avoid  him  :  which  of  these  is  he  ? 

Bora.   If  you  would  know  your  wronger,  look 

on  me. 
Leon.   Art  thou  the  slave  that  with  thy  breath 
hast  kiU'd 
Mine  innocent  child  ? 

Bora.  Yea,  even  I  alone. 

261.  //(7/«//^,  a  double  blun-  263.    specify;    Dogberry   can 

der;  Borachio  and  Conrade  being  only  have    blundered    into    this 

not   '  defendants  '   (in  a  civil  ac-  correct    use    of  so    technical   a 

tion)but  prisoners  (in  a  criminal  word  ;  he  meant  to  say  '  testify." 
one). 


270 


94 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     actv 

Shall  face  to  face  be  brought  to  Margaret, 
Who  I  believe  was  pack'd  in  all  this  wrong, 
Hired  to  it  by  your  brother. 

Bora.  No,  by  my  soul,  she  was  not, 

Nor  knew  not  what  she  did  when  slie  spoke  to  me,  310 
But  always  hath  been  just  and  virtuous 
In  any  thing  that  I  do  know  by  her. 

Dog.  Moreover,  sir,  which  indeed  is  not  under 
whiti  and  black,  this  plaintiff  here,  the  offender,  did 
call  me  ass  :  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  remembered 
in  his  punishment.  And  also,  the  watch  heard 
them  talk  of  one  Deformed  :  they  say  he  wears 
a  key  in  his  ear  and  a  lock  hanging  by  it,  and 
borrows  money  in  God's  name,  the  which  he  hath 
used  so  long  and  never  paid  that  now  men  grow  320 
hard-hearted  and  will  lend  nothing  for  God's  sake  : 
pray  you,  examine  him  upon  that  point. 

Leon.   I  thank  thee  for  thy  care  and  honest  pains. 

Dog.  Your  worship  speaks  like  a  most  thankful 
and  reverend  youth ;  and  I  praise  God  for  you. 

Leon.  There  's  for  thy  pains. 

Dog.   God  save  the  foundation  ! 

Leon.   Go,  I  discharge  thee  of  thy  prisoner,  and 
I  thank  thee. 

Dog.  I  leave  an  arrant  knave  with  your  worship;  330 
which  I  beseech  your  worship  to  correct  yourself, 
for  the  example  of  others.  God  keep  your  wor- 
ship !  I  wish  your  worship  well ;  God  restore  you 
to  health  !  I  humbly  give  you  leave  to  depart ;  and 
if  a  merry  meeting  may  be  wished,  God  prohibit 
it !     Come,  neighbour. 

\Exeunt  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

308.  pack'd  in,  put  up  to.  327.  God  save  the  foundation! 

312.   by,  of.  The    formula    of     thanksgiving 

318.   borrows  money  in  God's  uttered   by  those  who  received 

name,  begs  it.  alms  from  a  religious  house. 

96 


sc.  II      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Leon.  Until  to-morrow  morning,  lords,  farewell. 
Ant.   Farewell,  ni}'  lords  :  we  look  for  you  to- 
morrow. 
D.  Fedro.  We  will  not  fail. 
Claud.  To-night  I  '11  mourn  with  Hero. 

Leon.   [To  the  WatcJi\  Bring  you  these  fellows 
on.      "We  '11  talk  with  Margaret,  340 

How  her  acquaintance  grew  with  this  lewd  fellow. 

\Exeunt  severally. 


Scene  II.     Leonato's  garden. 

Enter  Benedick  a?id  Margaret,  meeting. 

Bene.  Pray  thee,  sweet  Mistress  Margaret,  de- 
serve well  at  my  hands  by  helping  me  to  the  speech 
of  Beatrice. 

Marg.  Will  you  then  write  me  a  sonnet  in  praise 
of  my  beauty  ? 

Bene.  In  so  high  a  style,  Margaret,  that  no  man 
living  shall  come  over  it ;  for,  in  most  comely 
truth,  thou  deservest  it.    " 

Marg.  To  have  no  man  come  over  me  !  why, 
shall  I  always  keep  below  stairs  ?  10 

Betie.  Thy  wit  is  as  quick  as  the  greyhound's 
m.outh  ;  it  catches. 

Marg.  And  yours  as  blunt  as  the  fencer's  foils, 
which  hit,  but  hurt  not. 

Bene.  A  most  manly  wit,  Margaret  ;  it  will  not 
hurt  a  woman  :  and  so,  I  pray  thee,  call  Beatrice : 
I  give  thee  the  bucklers. 

6.   style:  a  play  upon  'stile';  12.    catches,  holds  fast, 

'come    over    it'    also    conceals  17.  give  thee  the  bucklers,  \.&. 

an  equivoque,    which   Margaret  surrender,    confess    you    to    be 

characteristically  catches  at.  victor. 

VOL.  Ill  97  H 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing      actv 

Marg.   Give  us  the  swords ;  we  have  bucklers 
of  our  own. 

Bene.   If  you  use  them,  Margaret,  you  must  put   20 
in  the  pikes  with  a  vice ;  and  they  are  dangerous 
weapons  for  maids. 

Marg.  Well,  I  will  call  Beatrice  to  you,  who  I 
think  hath  legs. 

Bene.  And  therefore  will  come. 

\Exit  Margaret. 

\Sings\  The  god  of  love, 

That  sits  above, 
And  knows  me,  and  knows  me, 
How  pitiful  I  deserve, — 

I  mean  in  singing  ;  but  in  loving,  Leander  the  good  30 
swimmer,  Troilus  the  first  employer  of  jjandars,  and 
a  whole  bookful  of  these  quondam  carpet-mongers, 
whose  names  yet  run  smoothly  in  the  even  road 
of  a  blank  verse,  why,  they  were  never  so  truly 
turned  over  and  over  as  my  poor  self  in  love. 
Marry,  I  cannot  show  it  in  rhyme  ;  I  have  tried : 
I  can  find  out  no  rhyme  to  '  lady '  but  '  baby,' 
an  innocent  rhyme  ;  for  '  scorn,'  '  horn,'  a  hard 
rhyme  ;  for  '  school,'  '  fool,'  a  babbling  rhyme;  very 
ominous  endings :  no,  I  was  not  born  under  a  40 
rhyming  planet,  nor  I  cannot  woo  in  festival  terms. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Sweet  Beatrice,  wouldst  thou  come  when  I  called 
thee  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  signior,  and  depart  when  you  bid  me. 

Bene.   O,  stay  but  till  then  ! 

21.  pikes,  the  spiked   centre-  knights,'   frequenters  of  ladies' 

pieces  in  sixteenth-century  buck-  bowers  (like  our  '  drawing-room 

lers.  hero  ' ). 

32.   carpet -mongers,    'carpet- 

98 


sc.  II      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Beat.  '  Then  '  is  spoken  ;  fare  you  well  now : 
and  yet,  ere  I  go,  let  nie  go  with  that  I  came  ; 
which  is,  with  knowing  what  hath  passed  between 
you  and  Claudio. 

Bene.  Only  foul  words  ;  and  thereupon  I  will   50 
kiss  thee. 

Beat.  Foul  words  is  but  foul  wind,  and  foul 
wind  is  but  foul  breath,  and  foul  breath  is  noisome ; 
therefore  I  will  depart  unkissed. 

Bene.  Thou  hast  frighted  the  word  out  of  his 
right  sense,  so  forcible  is  thy  wit.  But  I  must  tell 
thee  plainly,  Claudio  undergoes  my  challenge ; 
and  either  I  must  shortly  hear  from  him,  or  I  will 
subscribe  him  a  coward.  And,  I  pray  thee  now, 
tell  me  for  which  of  my  bad  parts  didst  thou  first  60 
fall  in  love  with  me  ? 

Beat.  For  them  all  together  ;  which  maintained 
so  politic  a  state  of  evil  that  they  will  not  admit 
any  good  part  to  intermingle  with  them.  But  for 
which  of  my  good  parts  did  you  first  suffer  love 
for  me  ? 

Be/ie.  Suffer  love !  a  good  epithet !  I  do  suffer 
love  indeed,  for  I  love  thee  against  my  will. 

Beat.   In  spite  of  your  heart,  I  think  ;  alas,  poor 
heart !     If  you  spite  it  for  my  sake,  I  will  spite  it    70 
for  yours  ;    for  I  will  never   love  that  which  my 
friend  hates. 

Bene.  Thou  and  I  are  too  wise  to  woo  peace- 
ably. 

Beat.  It  appears  not  in  this  confession  :  there  's 
not  one  wise  man  among  twenty  that  will  praise 
himself 

Bene.    An  -old,  an  old  instance,   Beatrice,  that 

47.   came,  i.e.  came  for.  days,     and    which    had     force 

78.    an  old  instance,  an  argu-      ( '  lived  ' )  when  men  might  trust 

ment  derived  from  the  good  old      their  neighbours  to  praise  them. 

99 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     actv 

lived  in  the  time  of  good  neighbours.     If  a  man  do 
not  erect  in  this  age  his  own  tomb  ere  he  dies,  he    80 
shall  live  no  longer  in  monument  than  the  bell  rings 
and  the  widow  weeps. 

Beat.  And  how  long  is  that,  think  you  ? 

Bene.  Question  :  why,  an  hour  in  clamour  and 
a  quarter  in  rheum  :  therefore  is  it  most  expedient 
for  the  wise,  if  Don  Worm,  his  conscience,  find 
no  impediment  to  the  contrary,  to  be  the  trumpet 
of  his  own  virtues,  as  I  am  to  myself.  So  much  for 
praising  myself,  who,  I  myself  will  bear  witness,  is 
praiseworthy  :  and  now  tell  me,  how  doth  your  90 
cousin  ? 

Beat.   Very  ill. 

Bene.   And  how  do  vou  ? 

Beat.  Very  ill  too. 

Bene.  Serve  God,  love  me  and  mend.  There 
will  I  leave  you  too,  for  here  comes  one  in  haste. 

Enter  Ursula. 

Urs.  Madam,  you  must  come  to  your  uncle. 
Yonder  's  old  coil  at  home  :  it  is  proved  my  Lady 
Hero  hath  been  falsely  accused,  the  prince  and 
Claudio  mightily  abused  ;  and  Don  John  is  the  100 
author  of  all,  who  is  fled  and  gone.  Will )  ou  come 
presently  ? 

Beat.   Will  you  go  hear  this  news,  signior  ? 

Bene.  I  will  live  in  thy  heart,  die  in  thy  lap  and 
be  buried  in  thy  eyes  ;  and  moreover  I  will  go  wiih 
thee  to  thy  uncle's.  \Exeunt. 

81.   in    monument,   in    mem-      lo  a   worm  ;    hence    the  worm 
ory.  wns  an  emblem  of  remorse.     Cf. 

85.  rheum,  tears.  '  Tlie  worm   of  conscience  still 

86.  Don     Worm,     his    con-      begnaw  thy  soul,'  Kick.  HI.  i. 
science;  the  'gnawing'  of  con-      3.  222. 

science  was  popularly  attributed  98.  old  coil,  'a  rare  to-do.' 

100 


sc.  Ill      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 


Scene  III.     A  church. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  three  or  four 
with  tapers. 

Claud.   Is  this  the  monument  of  Leonato  ? 

A  Lord.   It  is,  my  lord. 

Claud.   [Reading  out  of  a  scro//] 

Done  to  death  by  slanderous  tongues 
Was  the  Hero  that  here  lies  : 

Death,  in  guerdon  of  her  wrongs, 

Gives  her  fame  which  never  dies. 

So  the  life  that  died  with  shame 

Lives  in  death  with  glorious  fame. 

Hang  thou  there  upon  the  tomb, 
Praising  her  when  I  am  dumb.  lo 

Now,  music,  sound,  and  sing  your  solemn  hymn. 

Song. 
Pardon,  goddess  of  the  night. 
Those  that  slew  thy  virgin  knight ; 
For  the  which,  with  songs  of  woe, 
Round  about  her  tomb  they  go. 
Midnight,  assist  our  moan  ; 
Help  us  to  sigh  and  groan. 

Heavily,  heavily  : 
Graves,  yawn  and  yield  your  dead, 
Till  death  be  uttered,  20 

Heavily,  heavily. 

19-21.     Graves,   yawn,    etc.  called  up  to  share   in  the  com- 

These  not  very  lucid  verses  are  menioration until  Hero'srequiem 

best  understood  'as  a  parallel  to  be  chanted  to  the  end. 
the  three  preceding  ones.       As  21.     Heavily,     heavily.        Ff 

'  Midnight'  is  there  summoned  have  'heavenly,  heavenly'  ;  but 

to  join  in  the  chorus  of  grief,  so  the  words  are  best  understood 

here  the  shades  of  the  dead  are  of  the  grievous  song  of  death. 

lOI 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     actv 

*  Clnud.   Now,  unto  thy  bones  good  night ! 

Yearly  will  I  do  this  rite. 
Z>.  Pedro.    Good   morrow,    masters ;    put  your 

torches  out  : 
The  wolves  have  prey'd ;  and  look,  the  gentle 
day. 
Before  the  wheels  of  Phoebus,  round  about 

Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  grey. 
Thanks  to  you  all,  and  leave  us  :  fare  you  well. 
Claicd.   Good  morrow,  masters  ;  each  his  several 

way. 
D.    Pedro.    Come,   let   us    hence,   and   put  on 
other  weeds  ;  30 

And  then  to  Leonato's  we  will  go, 
Claud.    And    Hymen    now    with    luckier    issue 
speed  's 
Than  this  for  whom  we  render'd  up  this  woe. 

\Exeunt. 


Scene  IV.     A  room  m  Leonato's  house. 

Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  Benedick,  Beatrice, 
Margaret,  Ursula,  Friar  Francis,  and 
Hero. 

Friar.   Did  I  not  tell  you  she  was  innocent  ? 

Lco7i.    So    are    the    prince    and    Claudio,    who 
accused  her 
Upon  the  error  that  you  heard  debated  : 
But  Margaret  was  in  some  fault  for  this. 
Although  against  her  will,  as  it  appears 
In  the  true  course  of  all  the  question. 

A7it.   Well,  I  am  glad  that  all  things  sort  so  well. 

Bene.   And  so  am  I,  being  else  by  faith  enforced 
To  call  young  Claudio  to  a  reckoning  for  it. 

102 


sc.  IV     Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Leon.   Well,  daughter,  and  you  gentlewomen  all,  lo 
Withdraw  into  a  chamber  by  yourselves, 
And  when  I  send  for  you,  come  hither  mask'd. 

[Exeunt  Ladies. 
The  prince  and  Claudio  promised  by  this  hour 
To  visit  me.     You  know  your  office,  brother : 
You  must  be  father  to  your  brother's  daughter, 
And  give  her  to  young  Claudio. 

Ant.   Which    I    will  do  with   confirm'd  counte- 
nance. 

Bene.   Friar,  I  must  entreat  your  pains,  I  think. 

Friar.  To  do  what,  signior  ? 

Bene.  To  bind  me,  or  undo  me  ;  one  of  them.      so 
Signior  Leonato,  truth  it  is,  good  signior, 
Your  niece  regards  me  with  an  eye  of  favour. 

Leon.  That  eye  my  daughter  lent  her  :  'tis  most 
true. 

Be7ie.  And  I  do  with  an  eye  of  love  requite  her. 

Leon.  The  sight  whereof  I  think  you  had  from  me. 
From  Claudio  and  the  prince  :  but  what 's  your  will  ? 

Be?ie.  Your  answer,  sir,  is  enigmatical : 
But,  for  my  will,  my  will  is  your  good  will 
May  stand  with  ours,  this  day  to  be  conjoin'd 
In  the  state  of  honourable  marriage  :  30 

In  which,  good  friar,  I  shall  desire  your  help. 

Leo7i.   My  heart  is  with  your  liking. 

Friar.  And  my  help. 

Here  comes  the  prince  and  Claudio. 

Efiter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio,  and  two  or 
three  others. 

D.  Pedro.   Good  morrow  to  this  fair  assembly. 
Leon.    Good    morrow,    prince ;    good    morrow, 
Claudio  : 
We  here  attend  you.     Are  you  yet  determined 
To-day  to  marry  with  my  brother's  daughter  ? 

103 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     actv 

Claud.   I  '11  hold  ray  mind,  were  she  an  Ethiope. 

Leo?i.    Call  her  forth,  brother ;   here 's  the  friar 
ready.  \Exit  Antonio. 

D.  Pedro.    Good    morrow,    Benedick.       Why, 
what 's  the  matter,  4° 

That  you  have  such  a  February  face, 
So  full  of  frost,  of  storm  and  cloudiness? 

Claud.   I  think  he  thinks  upon  the  savage  bull. 
Tush,  fear  not,  man  ;  we  '11  tip  th\'  horns  with  gold, 
And  all  Europa  shall  rejoice  at  thee, 
As  once  Europa  did  at  lusty  Jove, 
When  he  would  play  the  noble  beast  in  love. 

Bejie.   Bull  Jove,  sir,  had  an  amiable  low ; 
And  some  such  strange  bull  leap'd  your  father's  cow, 
And  got  a  calf  in  that  same  noble  feat  50 

Much  like  to  you,  for  you  have  just  his  bleat. 

Claud.   For  this  I  owe  you  :  here  comes  other 
reckonings. 


*o^ 


Re-enter  Antonio,  with  the  Ladies  masked. 

Which  is  the  lady  I  must  seize  upon  ? 

Atit.  This  same  is  she,  and  I  do  give  you  her. 
Claud.    Why,  then  she 's  mine.      Sweet,  let  me 

see  your  face. 
Leon.    No,  that  you  shall  not,  till  you  take  her 
hand 
Before  this  friar  and  swear  to  marry  her. 

Claud.  Give  me  your  hand  :  before  this  holy  friar, 
I  am  your  husband,  if  you  like  of  me. 

Hero.  And  when  I  lived,  I  was  your  other  wife : 

[  Unmaskin:;.    6e 
And  when  you  loved,  you  were  my  other  husband. 
Claud.  Another  Hero  ! 
Hero.  Nothing  certainer: 

One  Hero  died  defiled,  but  I  do  live, 
And  surely  as  I  live,  I  am  a  maid. 

104 


sc.  IV      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

D.  Pedro.  The  former  Hero  !   Hero  that  is  dead  ! 
Leo7i.   She  died,  my  lord,  but  whiles  her  slander 

lived. 
Friar.   All  this  amazement  can  I  qualify  : 
When  after  that  the  holy  rites  are  ended, 
I  '11  tell  you  largely  of  fair  Hero's  death  : 
Meantime  let  wonder  seem  familiar,  70 

And  to  the  chapel  let  us  presently. 

Bene.  Soft  and  fair,  friar.     Which  is  Beatrice? 
Beat.  [  Uninasking\  I  answer  to  that  name.      What 

is  your  will  ? 
Bene.   Do  not  you  love  me  ? 
Beat.  ^Vhy,  no  ;  no  more  than  reason. 

Bene.   Why,  then  your  uncle  and  the  prince  and 
Claudio 
Have  been  deceived  ;  they  swore  you  did. 
Beat.   Do  not  you  love  me  ? 
Bene.  Troth,  no  ;  no  more  than  reason. 

Beat.  Why,  then  my  cousin  Margaret  and  Ursula 
Are  much  deceived  ;  for  they  did  swear  you  did. 
Bene.  They  swore  that  you  were  almost  sick  for 

me.  80 

Beat.    They  swore  that  you  were  well-nigh  dead 

for  me. 
Be7ie.   'Tis  no  such  matter.      Then  you  do  not 

love  nie  ? 
Beat.   No,  trul}',  but  in  friendly  recompense. 
Leon.  Come,  cousin,   I  am  sure   you   love  the 

gentleman. 
Claud.   And  I  '11  be  sworn  upon  't  that  he  loves 
her; 
For  here  's  a  paper  written  in  his  hand, 
A  halting  sonnet  of  his  own  pure  brain, 
Fashion'd  to  Beatrice. 

Hero.  And  here  's  another 

87.   of  his  own  fure  brain,  of  his  unaided  invention. 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing     act  v 

Writ  in  my  cousin's  hand,  stolen  from  her  pocket, 
Containing  her  affection  un,to  Benedick.  90 

Bene.  A  miracle  !  here  's  our  own  hands  against 
our  hearts.  Come,  I  will  have  thee ;  but,  by  this 
light,  I  take  thee  for  pity. 

Beat.  I  would  not  deny  you  ;  but,  by  this  good 
day,  I  yield  upon  great  persuasion  ;  and  partly  to 
save  your  life,  for  I  was  told  you  were  in  a  con- 
sumption. 

Be7ie.  Peace  !  I  will  stop  your  mouth. 

\Kissi7tg  her. 

D.  Pedro.  How  dost  thou,  Benedick,  the 
married  man  ?  100 

Be7ie.  I  '11  tell  thee  what,  prince ;  a  college  of 
wit-crackers  cannot  flout  me  out  of  my  humour. 
Dost  thou  think  I  care  for  a  satire  or  an  epigram  ? 
No  :  if  a  man  will  be  beaten  with  brains,  a'  shall 
wear  nothing  handsome  about  him.  In  brief, 
since  I  do  purpose  to  marry,  I  will  think  nothing 
to  any  purpose  that  the  world  can  say  against  it ; 
and  therefore  never  flout  at  me  for  what  I  have 
said  against  it ;  for  man  is  a  giddy  thing,  and  this 
is  my  conclusion.  For  thy  part.  Claudio,  I  did  no 
think  to  have  beaten  thee  ;  but  in  that  thou  art 
like  to  be  my  kinsman,  live  unbruised  and  love  my 
cousin. 

Claud.  I  had  well  hoped  thou  wouldst  have 
denied  Beatrice,  that  I  might  have  cudgelled  thee 
out  of  thy  single  life,  to  make  thee  a  double-dealer; 
which,  out  of  question,  thou  wilt  be,  if  my  cousin 
do  not  look  exceeding  narrowly  to  thee. 

Bene.   Come,  come,  we  are  friends  :  let 's  have 
a  dance  ere  we  are  married,  that  we  may  lighten  120 
our  own  hearts  and  our  wives'  heels. 

Leo7i.   We  '11  have  dancing  afterward. 

Bene.  First,  of  my  word  ;  therefore  play,  music. 

106 


sc.  IV      Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Prince,  thou  art  sad ;  get  thee  a  wife,  get  thee  a 
wife  :  there  is  no  staff  more  reverend  than  one 
tipped  with  horn. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.   My  lord,  your   brother   John  is  ta'en  in 
flight, 
And  brought  with  armed  men  back  to  Messma. 

Befie.   Think   not  on   him   till    to-morrow :    I  '11 
devise  thee  brave  punishments  for  him.       Strike  130 
up,  pipers.  SjDance.     Exeunt. 

126.   tipped  with  horn,  i.e.  with  a  horn  ferrule. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL 


109 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

King  of  France. 

Duke  of  Florence. 

Bertram,  Count  of  Rousillon. 

Lafeu,  an  old  lord. 

Parolles,  a  follower  of  Bertram, 

Steward, 

Lavache,  a  Clow 

A  Page. 


\  servants  to  the  Countess  of  Rousillon. 
n,  J 


Countess  of  Rousillon,  mother  to  Bertram. 

Helena,  a  gentlewoman  protected  by  the  Countess. 

An  old  Widow  of  Florence. 

Diana,  daughter  to  the  Widow. 

ViOLENTA,   1        .   ,  ,  ,  ^  .       ,  ,      „,.  , 

AT  ,„,,.,  A      f  neighbours  and  friends  to  the  Widow. 
Mariana,   j        ^ 

Lords,  Officers,  Soldiers,  etc.,  French  and  Florentine. 

Scene  :  Rousillon  ;  Paris ;  Florence  ;  Marseilles. 


Dramatis    Personce.      In    Ff  Rousillon    commonly   appears   as 
Rossillion,  Helena  as  Hellen. 


T  TO 


INTRODUCTION 

All  's  Well  Tha  t  Ends  Well  was  first  printed 
in  the  Folio  of  1623.      It  is  there  divided  into  acts, 
but  not  into  scenes.     The  printing  is  careless,  and 
the  text  offers  many  problems.     External  clues  to  the 
date  are  wholly  wanting.      No  early  performance  is 
recorded ;    no  early  mention  of  the   play  had  been 
found.     The  internal  evidence  is  complicated.    Cole- 
ridge   was    the    first    to    insist    upon   the    sharp    in- 
equalities of  style,  which  point  to  a  partial  revision  by 
Shakespeare  of  an  earlier  piece  of  his  own,  much  of 
which  he  retained  intact.    Side  by  side  with  the  supple, 
sinewy  dramatic  verse  of  the  Hmnlet  period,  we  have 
speeches  full  of  the  lyrical  sweetness  and  the  dainty 
artifice    of  the    earliest    comedies,    with    a    singular 
abundance  of  rhyme.      The  mere  use  of  rhyme  tells 
us  little,  and  the   so-called    'rhyme-test'    is    almost 
useless  as  a  guide  to  date.    For  two  purposes,  at  least, 
Shakespeare  continued   to  use  it  as  late  as  Othello. 
It  mnrks  a  sudden  lyrical  exaltation  (as  in  Beatrice's 
out])urst,  Jlh/ch   Ado,    iii.    i.    107    f)    or  sententious 
reflections  (as  in  the  moral  conclusions  of  the  duke 
and  Brabantio  in    Othello,  i.    3.    198-219).      On  the 
other  hand,  its  use  in  ordinary  dialogue,  or  in  letters, 
is  characteristic  of  plays  not  later  than  1595. 

Some  of  the  rhymed  passages  in  our  play  which 

iiz 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

have  been  claimed  as  '  early '  belong  to  one  or  other 
of  the  former  classes  ;  e.g.  Helen's  often-quoted  lines 
(i.  I.  231-244): 

Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie, 
Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven  ; 

and  the  countess'  reflections  upon  Helen's  love 
(i.  3.  134  f).  They  may  be  early,  but  the  'test'  is 
not  here  decisive.  On  the  other  hand,  a  grave 
suspicion  of  '  earliness '  rests  both  upon  tb.e  two 
rhymed  letters  of  Helen  (iii.  4)  and  ParoUes  (iv.  3) ; 
and  upon  several  scenes  in  which  rhyme  is  used  as  a 
vehicle  for  pure  '  business.'  These  are  :  Helen's  first 
interview  with  the  king  (ii.  i.  132-212),  much  of  the 
choosing- scene  (ii.  3.  106  f.),  and  the  greater  part  of 
the  d'enoihnent  (v.  3).  Just  these  passages,  moreover, 
abound  in  conceits,  verbal  antitheses,  and  other  more 
decisive  marks  of  early  manner,  e.g.  ii.  i.  160-1: 

But  know  I  think,  and  think  I  know  most  sure 
My  art  is  not  past  power,  nor  you  past  cure. 

Similarly  in  ii.  i.  136,  146,  171,  etc.  Most  striking 
of  all  perhaps  is  Helen's  mode  of  defining  *  within 
what  space  she  hopes  the  king's  cure.' 

The  great'st  grace  lending  grace, 
Ere  twice  the  horses  of  the  sun  shall  bring 
Their  fiery  torcher  his  diuinal  ring, 
Ere  twice  in  murk  and  occidental  damp 
Moist  Hesperus  hath  quench'd  his  sleepy  lamp, 
Or  four  and  twenty  times  the  pilot's  glass 
Hath  told  the  thievish  minutes  how  they  pass,  etc. 

This  was  by  no  means  meant  for  burlesque ;  but 
nothing  that  Shakespeare  has  written  is  so  hke  it  as 
the  burlesciue  verses  of  the  player  king  and  queen  in 
Hamlet.  Those  verses  do  but  exaggerate  his  own 
manner  of  twelve  or  fourteen  years  earlier.     And  the 

112 


Introduction 

manner  of  the  player  king  hardly  differs  more  from 
that  of  Hamlet's  soliloquies  than  do  these  couplets 
from  the  great  soliloquy  of  Helen  at  the  close  of 
iii.  2.  : 

Poor  lord  !   is  't  I 
That  chase  thee  from  thy  country,  and  expose 
Those  tender  limbs  of  thine  to  the  event 
Of  the  none-sparing  war?  and  is  it  I 
Tliat  drive  thee  from  the  sportive  court,  where  thou 
Wast  shot  at  with  fair  eyes,  to  be  the  mark 
Of  smoky  muskets  ?     O  you  leaden  messengers, 
That  ride  upon  the  violent  speed  of  fire, 
Fly  with  false  aim  ;   move  the  still-piecing  air, 
That  sings  with  piercing  ;   do  not  touch  my  lord. 

.  .   .   No,  come  thou  home,  Rousillon, 
Whence  honour  but  of  danger  wins  a  scar, 
As  oft  it  loses  all  :    I  will  be  gone  ; 
My  being  here  it  is  that  holds  thee  hence : 
Shall  I  stay  here  to  do  't  ?  no,  no,  although 
The  air  of  paradise  did  fan  the  house 
And  angels  officed  all.    .  .  . 

Not  only  the  verse  but  many  parallel  thoughts, 
and  much  in  the  working  out  of  character,  connect 
the  play  with  the  Hamlet  period.  Helen  has  been 
described  as  a  kind  of  antithesis  to  Hamlet,  in  her 
clear  purpose  and  resolute  will ;  her  quiet  intensity 
and  absence  of  humour  associate  her  with  Isabel, 
the  device  which  restores  her  wedded  rights,  with 
Mariana.  The  marks  of  early  date  thus  attach 
themselves  to  scenes  which  form  the  very  framework 
of  the  plot. 

Nothing  is  known  of  an  earlier  form  of  the  play 
under  the  same  title ;  but  it  is  plausibly  supposed 
that  this  may  have  been  the  '  Love's  Labour's 
Wonne,'  mentioned  by  Meres  in  1598  among  the 
best  comedies  of  Shakespeare.  The  only  serious  com- 
petitor for  this  honour  is  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew^ 
whose  claims  have  been  well   urged   by  Hertzberg. 

VOL.  Ill  113  I 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

In  that  play  there  are  certainly  '  labours,'  and  that 
labours  are  '  won ' ;  but  it  is  marital  authority  that 
labours  and  wins,  not  love. 

The  plot  was  founded  upon  Boccaccio's  tale  of 
Giletta  (Giglietta)  of  Narbonne  {Decameron,  iii.  9), 
as  translated  in  Painter's  Palace  of  Pleasure  (1566-7).^ 
Giletta,  unlike  Helen,  is  rich,  and  many  seek  her 
hand.  She  burns  for  love  of  young  Beltramo,  her 
cliildish  playfellow,  now  at  the  French  king's  court, 
but  cannot  escape  the  strict  surveillance  of  her  rela- 
tives. Then  she  hears  of  the  king's  incurable 
disease  and  is  'wonderfully  glad.'  She  goes  to  Paris, 
and  the  first  thing  she  went  about  when  she  came 
thither  was  to  see  the  Count  Beltramo.  She  then 
makes  her  bargain  with  the  king.  On  his  cure  she 
promptly  names  her  choice.  The  king  is  '  very  loth ' 
to  grant  him  to  her,  but  will  not  break  his  promise. 
Beltramo  goes  through  the  form  of  marriage,  and 
then  hurries  away  to  the  Florentine  wars,  with  a 
mocking  intimation  of  the  conditions  on  which  she 
may  be  his  wife.  She  fulfils  the  conditions,  as  in  the 
play.  Beltramo  returns  to  Rousillon.  Giletta,  upon 
the  birth  of  her  twin  sons,  proceeds  with  them  thither, 
presents  them  to  her  husband,  with  the  ring,  and  is 
by  him  at  length  accepted  as  his  lawful  wife. 

Like  the  other  Tales  of  the  Third  Day,  this  was 
designed  to  tell  of  one  '  who  gained  by  exertion 
something  he  desired.'  It  is  a  story  of  hard-won 
love,  with  the  usual  parts  inverted.  Giletta  is  the 
bold  and  resolute  lover,  who  succeeds  in  spite  of  all 
obstacles  in  winning  the  hand  of  her  chosen  bride- 
groom. 

Such  a  conception  was  reconcilable  enough  with 
the  conventional  types  of  womanhood  which  Shake- 

^  That    Shakespeare   worked      from  his  using  Painter's  French 
from    the    translation    appears      term  '  Scnois  '  for  the  Siennese. 

114 


Introduction 

speare  represented,  in  the  Midsunwier-Nighf s  Dream 
or  Tlie  Tmo  Gentlemen,  jiursuing  a  reluctant  or 
faitliless  lover.  The  original  Helena  was  probably 
sketched  with  the  same  facile  reliance  upon  romantic 
convention  as  the  Athenian  Helena  and  the  Veronese 
Julia.  But  the  closer  study  of  refined  women  from 
the  life,  which  becomes  apparent  in  Portia,  shook  the 
credit  of  this  favourite  device.  In  7weljth  NigJit 
he  simply  eliminates  the  motif  cf  pursuit,  which  he 
found  in  the  story  of  Silla  and  Apollonius,  and  makes 
Viola  love  the  duke  only  after  having  taken  service 
with  him,  instead  of  taking  service  that  she  may 
prosecute  her  love.  In  the  present  play  he  undertook 
a  far  more  difficult  problem  ;  that  of  keeping  the 
romantic  story  in  all  essential  circumstances  intact, 
and  yet  making  it  plausible  as  the  action  of  a  noble, 
refined  woman  of  the  modern  world. 

This  was  effected,  in  the  finished  play,  by  a  subtle 
elaboration  of  the  characters  which  affect  Helen's 
career  and  create  the  atmosphere  in  which  she  moves, 
quite  as  much  as  by  the  exquisite  portrayal  of  Helen 
herself.  The  Countess,  Lafeu,  Parolles,  the  Steward, 
and  the  Clown,  are  all  original  additions.  Shake- 
speare has  rarely  dwelt  upon  those  class  antagonisms 
of  noble  and  bourgeois  which  enter  so  largely  into 
modern  fiction ;  as  rarely  the  relation  between  mother 
and  daughter.  His  Countess  ignores  the  one  and 
assumes  the  other, — a  silent  tribute  to  Helen's  distinc- 
tion of  character,  as  to  her  own.  Lafeu  is  an  aristocrat 
of  the  same  genial  type,  who  betrays  only  indig- 
nant wonder  when  the  young  nobles  of  the  court 
appear  to  refuse  the  proffered  hand  of  the  poor 
physician's  daughter.  The  king  himself  instead  of 
being  '  very  loth '  at  Helen's  choice,  accepts  it  with 
cordial  alacrity,  and  checks  Bertram's  scorn  by  a 
frankly  democratic   speech   which  saps  the   basis   of 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

the  whole  fabric  of  social  distinctions  founded  upon 

blood  (ii.  3.  124  f.) :  ,  .   . 

^       ^  ^      '  honours  thrive, 

When  rather  from  our  acts  we  them  derive 

Than  our  foregoers.   .   .   . 

She  is  young,  wise,  fair  ; 

In  these  to  nature  she  's  immediate  heir, 

And  these  breed  honour. 

In  a  society  which  thus  forgets  its'  aristocratic 
prejudices  under  the  spell  of  her  personality,  the  out- 
ward obstacles  to  Helen's  shy  ambition  melt  away 
of  themselves :  she  is  rather  drawn  forward  than 
repelled.  The  tribute  to  her  power  and  charm  is 
the  more  marked  since  she  is  not  like  Giletta,  rich. 

The  general  enlightenment  gives  to  Bertram's 
resistance  an  air  of  stolid  obstinacy.  And  Shake- 
speare has  been  at  no  pains  to  quaHfy  the  impression. 
Helen's  idol  is  still  less  worthy  than  Giletta's  of  the 
love  he  inspires. 

The  complications  of  the  final  scene  w^hich  Shake- 
speare has  substituted  for  the  simple  solution  of  the 
novel,  serve  not  only  to  s.ustain  the  suspense  to  the 
close  but  to  bring  into  glaring  relief  the  moral  worth- 
lessness  of  Bertram.  This  is  effected  mainly  by 
the  device  of  the  second  ring,  which  Helen  puts 
upon  Bertram's  finger  at  Florence.  Confronted 
gradually  with  the  evidence,  Bertram  lies  and  boggles 
pitiably,  and  comes  out  of  the  inquisition  acquitted 
of  crime  but  steeped  in  dishonour.  His  fatuity  is 
emphasised  by  the  companionship  of  ParoUes.  The 
original  ParoUes  may  be  surmised  to  have  been  a 
humorous  attendant  of  the  type  variously  represented 
in  the  earlier  Comedies  by  Speed  and  Launce,  the 
Dromios,  Moth,  and  Launcelot  Gobbo.  But  in  his 
final  form  comic  effect  has  all  but  vanished  under 
the  stress  of  a  scorn  too  mordant  for  laughter.  He 
is  a  fellow  of  Pistol  and  of  Thersites,  a  wordy  pre- 

116 


Introduction 

tender  to  valour  who  suffers  a  still  more  elaborate 
and  cruel  exposure  than  Fluellen  and  Margarelon  in- 
flict upon  them.  The  '  insupportable  vexations  '  to 
which  Lafeu  subjects  him  in  atonement  for  having 
thought  him,  '  for  two  ordinaries,  a  pretty  wise  fellow  ' 
(ii.  3),  hardly  come  nearer  to  comic  mirth.  Bertram's 
solitary  blindness  to  the  vices  of  the  man  of  words 
{paroles)  serves  to  explain  his  solitary  blindness  to 
the  nobility  of  the  woman  of  quiet  resolve. 

But  these  traits,  which  go  to  render  the  story 
plausible,  confessedly  fail  to  render  it  pleasing. 
Boccaccio's  bold  adventuress,  who  plays  her  game  for 
a  man  of  the  world  and  wins  it,  is  a  far  less  attractive 
figure  than  the  pure  and  exquisite  Helena  of  Shake- 
speare, but  she  touches  less  jarring  chords.  Or  their 
dissonance  is  less  felt  because  her  whiole  character 
is  less  finely  tuned.  Shakespeare's  best  women  com- 
monly love  a  man  of  meaner  worth  than  their  own ; 
Romeo,  Bassanio,  Orlando,  Benedick,  the  Duke 
(in  Twelfth  Alight)  are  all,  on  a  mere  comparison 
of  merit,  fortunate  in  the  wives  they  win  :  but  he 
had  never  yet  pictured  the  tragic  perversion  of  a 
maiden  passion,  as  he  does  here.  It  is  a  picture 
characteristic  of  the  years  when,  in  Julius  Caesar  and 
in  Hamlet^  he  was  laying  bare,  with  deepening  irony, 
the  fatalities  which  lie  in  wait  for  the  weaknesses  of 
noble  characters.  The  issues  are  here  less  grave,  but 
the  irony  is  even  more  pronounced,  in  so  far  as 
Helen's  passion  for  Bertram  seems  to  spring  not 
from  any  flaw  in  her  clear  and  penetrating  mind,  but 
from  something  fundamentally  irrational  in  the  nature 
of  love  itself  Christian  idealism  sees  the  peculiar 
glory  of  love  in  its  power  of  transcending  and  ignor- 
ing distinctions  of  merit,  and  pouring  itself  forth  on 
the  mean  and  lowly.  Modern  Romanticism,  from  a 
kindred  but  distinct  point  of  view,  has  delighted  to 

117 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

picture  the  salvation  of  a  worthless  man  by  a  woman's 
devoted  love.  But  neither  of  these  transcendent 
ways  of  looking  at  love  is  anywhere  suggested  in 
Shakespeare.  Helen's  love  is  an  idolatry,  and  finds 
its  highest  expression  in  adoring  self-subjection  : 

I  dare  not  say  I  take  you  ;  but  I  give 
Me  and  my  service,  ever  whilst  I  live, 
Into  your  guiding  power. 

Yet  the  triumph  of  her  love  is  merely  external.  She 
has  satisfied  the  conditions  and  her  husband  consents 
to  take  her  liome  ;  but  of  ihe  sequel  we  are  left  to 
form  what  ominous  conjecture  we  may  from  the  per- 
functory declaration  of  the  '  shrewd  boggier '  in  the 
last  lines  : 

If  she,  my  liege,  can  make  me  know  this  clearly, 
I  '11  love  her  dearly,  ever,  ever  dearly. 


iiS 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL 

ACT  I. 

Scene  I.     Rousillon.     The  Count's  palace. 

Enter  Bertram,  the  Countess  of  Rousillon, 
Helena,  and  Lafeu,  all  in  black. 

Count.  In  delivering  my  son  from  me,  I  bury 
a  second  husband. 

Ber.  And  I  in  going,  madam,  weep  o'er  my 
father's  death  anew  :  but  I  must  attend  his  majesty's 
command,  to  whom  I  am  now  in  ward,  evermore 
in  subjection. 

Laf.  You  shall  find  of  the  king  a  husband, 
madam  ;  you,  sir,  a  father  :  he  that  so  generally 
is  at  ali  times  good  must  of  necessity  hold  his 
virtue  to  you  ;  whose  worthiness  would  stir  it  up  lo 
where  it  wanted  rather  than  lack  it  where  there 
is  such  abundance. 

Count.  What  hope  is  there  of  his  majesty's 
amendment  ? 

Laf.  He  hath  abandoned  his  physicians,  madam  ; 
under  whose   practices  he   hath   persecuted   time 

\(>.  persecuted  time  with  hope.  he  used  against  time, — with  no 

His  'hope' — that  the  'time'  of  further  result   than   to   spoil  its 

his  disease  would  be  cut  short —  edge. 
is  conceived  as  a  weapon  which 

119 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  i 

with  hope,  and  finds  no  other  advantage  in  the 
process  but  only  the  losing  of  hope  by  time. 

Count.  This  young  gentlewoman  had  a  father, 
— O,  that  *  had  ' !  how  sad  a  passage  'tis  ! — whose  20 
skill  was  almost  as  great  as  his  honesty ;  had 
it  stretched  so  far,  would  have  made  nature 
immortal,  and  death  should  have  play  for  lack 
of  work.  Would,  for  the  king's  sake,  he  were 
living  !  I  think  it  would  be  the  death  of  the  king's 
disease. 

Laf.  How  called  you  the  man  you  speak  of, 
madam  ? 

Count.   He  was  famous,  sir,   in  his  profession, 
and  it  was  his   great  right  to    be  so  :   Gerard  de  30 
Narbon. 

Laf.  He  was  excellent  indeed,  madam :  the 
king  very  lately  spoke  of  him  admiringly  and 
mourningly  :  he  was  skilful  enough  to  have  lived 
still,  if  knowledge  could  be  set  up  against  mor- 
tality. 

Ber.  What  is  it,  my  good  lord,  the  king  lan- 
guishes of? 

Laf.   A  fistula,  my  lord. 

Ber.   I  heard  not  of  it  before.  40 

Laf.  I  would  It  were  not  notorious.  Was 
this  gentlewoman  the  daughter  of  Gerard  de 
Narbon  ? 

Count.  His  sole  child,  my  lord,  and  be- 
queathed to  my  overlooking.  I  have  those  hopes 
of  her  good  that  her  education  promises ;  her 
dispositions  she  inherits,  which  makes  fair  gifts 
fairer ;  for  where  an  unclean  mind  carries  vir- 
tuous qualities,  there  commendations  go  with 
pity ;    they  are   virtues   and   traitors   too :   in  her  50 

20.  hoiu  sad  a  passage  'tis,  '  what  a  grievous  passing  away  lies 
in  this  "  had  "  !' 

120 


sc.  I      All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

they   are    the    better    for    their    simpleness ;    she 
derives  her  honesty  and  achieves  her  goodness. 

Laf.    Your   commendations,   madam,    get  from 
her  tears. 

Count.  'Tis  the  best  brine  a  maiden  can  season 
her  praise  in.  The  remembrance  of  her  father 
never  approaches  her  heart  but  the  tyranny  of 
her  sorrows  takes  all  livelihood  from  her  cheek. 
No  more  of  this,  Helena ;  go  to,  no  more ;  lest 
it  be  rather  thought  you  affect  a  sorrow  than  60 
have  it. 

Tlel.   I  do  affect  a  sorrow  indeed,  but  I  have 
it  too. 

Laf.   Moderate  lamentation  is  the  right  of  the 
dead,  excessive  grief  the  enemy  to  the  living. 

Count.  If  the  living  be  enemy  to  the  grief,  the 
excess  makes  it  soon  mortal. 

Ber.   Madam,  I  desire  your  holy  wishes. 

Laf.   How  understand  we  that  ? 

Count.   Be  thou  blest,  Bertram,  and  succeed  thy 
father. 
In  manners,  as  in  shape  !  thy  blood  and  virtue 
Contend  for  empire  in  thee,  and  thy  goodness 
Share  with  thy  birthright  !      Love  all,  trust  a  few, 
Do  wrong  to  none  :  be  able  for  thine  enemy 
Rather  in  power  than  use,  and  keep  thy  friend 
Under  thy  own  life's  key  :  be  check'd  for  silence, 
But  never  tax'd  for  speech.   What  heaven  more  will. 
That  thee  may  furnish  and  my  prayers  pluck  down. 
Fall  on  thy  head  !      Farewell,  my  lord ; 
'Tis  an  unseason'd  courtier ;  good  my  lord,  80 

Advise  him. 

Laf.      •        He  cannot  want  the  best 
That  shall  attend  his  love. 

58.   livelihood,  liveliness.  74.   be  able  for,  be  a  match  for. 

78.  furnish,  enrich,  endow. 

121 


70 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well     act  i 

Count.   Heaven  bless  him  !     Farewell,  Bertram. 

\Exit. 

Ber.  \To  Hdena\  The  best  wishes  that  can  be 
forged  in  your  thoughts  be  servants  to  you  !  Be 
comfortable  to  my  mother,  your  mistress,  and  make 
much  of  her. 

Laf.  Farewell,  pretty  lady :  you  must  hold  the 
credit  of  your  father. 

\_Exeunt  Bertram  and  Lafeu. 

Hel.    O,    were   that   all !     I   think   not  on   my 
father ;  90 

And  these  great  tears  grace  his  remembrance  more 
Than  those  I  shed  for  him.     What  was  he  like? 
I  have  forgot  him  :   my  imagination 
Carries  no  favour  in  't  but  Bertram's. 
I  am  undone  :  there  is  no  living,  none, 
If  Bertram  be  away.      'Twere  all  one 
That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star 
And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  above  me  : 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 
Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  his  sphere.  100 

The  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plagues  itself: 
The  hind  that  would  be  mated  by  the  lion 
Must  die  for  love.      'Twas  pretty,  though  a  plague, 
To  see  him  every  hour ;  to  sit  and  draw 
His  arched  brows,  his  hawking  eye,  his  curls, 
In  our  heart's  table  ;  heart  too  capable 
Of  every  line  and  trick  of  his  sweet  favour : 
But  now  he  's  gone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 
Must  sanctify  his  reliques.     Who  comes  here? 

91.   these  great  tears  grace  his  had  actually  shed  for  him. 

remembrance  more  than  those  I  94.  favour,  countenance. 

shed  for  hifn,    i.e.    her    'great  99.    collateral,    derived,     in- 

tears"    at   Bertram's  departure,  direct. 

shed,  as  the  Countess  and  Lafeu  105.    hawking,  piercin;^. 

supposed,  for  her  father,  betray  106.     capable   of,   susceptible 

a  far  deeper  grief  than  those  she  to. 

122 


5c.  I      All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Enter  Parolles. 

]^Asidt'\  One  that  goes  with  him  :  I  love  him  for 

his  sake ;  no 

And  yet  I  know  him  a  notorious  liar, 
Think  him  a  great  way  fool,  solely  a  coward ; 
Yet  these  fix'd  evils  sit  so  fit  in  him, 
That  they  take  place,  when  virtue's  steely  bones 
Look  bleak  i'  the  cold  wind  :  v/ithal,  full  oft  we  see 
Cold  wisdom  waiting  on  superfluous  folly. 

Par.   Save  you,  fair  queen  ! 

HeL  And  you,  monarch  ! 

Far.   No. 

HeL   And  no.  120 

Far.  Are  you  meditating  on  virginity  ? 

He/.  Ay.  You  have  some  stain  of  soldier  in 
you  :  let  me  ask  you  a  question.  Man  is  enemy 
to  virginity  ;  how  may  we  barricado  it  against  him  ? 

Far.   Keep  him  out. 

HeL  But  he  assails ;  and  our  virginity,  though 
valiant,  in  the  defence  yet  is  weak ;  unfold  to  us 
some  warlike  resistance. 

Far.  There  is  none  :  man,  sitting  down  before 
you,  will  undermine  you  and  blow  you  up.  130 

HeL  Bless  our  poor  virginity  from  underminers 
and  blowers  up  !  Is  there  no  military  policy,  how 
virgins  might  blow  up  men  ? 

112.   solely,  absolutely.  121-178.    This    passage    has 

114.    take  place,  procure  him  been  with  reason  suspected.      It 

rank,  position.  is   rash    to   assert    that    Shake- 

114.  jfcc/)',  rigorous,  inflexible.  speare's    Helen,   bold   with    the 

115.  Look.    Ff 'lookes,' which      security  of  strength,   could   not 
may  be  right.  have     permitted     herself    such 

116.  .Cold,  shivering.  license   of  jest.        But    there    is 
ib.     superfluous,  luxurious.  evidence  of  patching  at  v.   179  ; 

118.   monarch.     This  is  pos-  and  the  passage  is  probably  a 

sibly  a  play  on  the  '  fantastical  relic  of  the   earlier  play.      See 

monarcho'  referred  to  in  Love's  further,  note  to  179. 
Lab.  Lost,  iv.  i.  loi.  122.   slain,  dash. 

123 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well     act  i 

Par.  Virginity  being  blown  down,  man  will 
quicklier  be  blown  up  :  marry,  in  blowing  him. 
down  again,  with  the  breach  yourselves  made, 
you  lose  your  city.  It  is  not  politic  in  the  com- 
monwealth of  nature  to  preserve  virginity.  I^oss 
of  virginity  is  rational  increase  and  there  was 
never  virgin  got  till  virginity  was  first  lost.  That  140 
you  were  made  of  is  metal  to  make  virgins. 
Virginity  by  being  once  lost  may  be  ten  times 
found  ;  by  being  ever  kept,  it  is  ever  lost :  'tis  too 
cold  a  companion  ;  away  with  't ! 

Hel.  I  will  stand  for  't  a  little,  though  therefore 
I  die  a  virgin. 

Par.  There  's  little  can  be  said  in  't ;  'tis  against 
the  rule  of  nature.  To  speak  on  the  part  of  vir- 
ginity, is  to  accuse  your  mothers  ;  which  is  most 
infallible  disobedience.  He  that  hangs  himself  is  150 
a  virgin  :  virginity  murders  itself;  and  should  be 
buried  in  highways  out  of  all  sanctified  limit,  as 
a  desperate  offendress  against  nature.  Virginity 
breeds  mites,  much  like  a  cheese ;  consumes  itself 
to  the  very  paring,  and  so  dies  with  feeding  his 
own  stomach.  Besides,  virginity  is  peevish,  proud, 
idle,  made  of  self-love,  which  is  the  most  inhibited 
sin  in  the  canon.  Keep  it  not ;  you  cannot  choose 
but  lose  by  't  :  out  with  't !  within  ten  year  it  will 
make  itself  ten,  which  is  a  goodly  increase  ;  and  160 
the  principal  itself  not  much  the  worse :  away 
witli  't ! 

Hel.  How  might  one  do,  sir,  to  lose  it  to  her 
own  liking  ? 

Par.  Let  me  see  :  marry,  ill,  to  like  him  that 
ne'er  it  likes.  'Tis  a  commodity  will  lose  the 
gloss  with  lying ;  the  longer  kept,  the  less  worth  : 

for    Ff    ten 


155.    his,  its. 

mcr's 

emendation 

1 59.    ten  year  .  . 

.  ten  ; 

Han-      year . 
124 

.  .  tzvo. 

sc.  I      All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

off  with  't  while  'tis  vendible  ;  answer  the  time  of 
request.  Virginity,  like  an  old  courtier,  wears 
her  cap  out  of  fashion  :  richly  suited,  but  unsuit-  170 
able :  just  like  the  brooch  and  the  tooth-pick, 
which  wear  not  now.  Your  date  is  better  in 
your  pie  and  your  porridge  than  in  your  cheek  : 
and  your  virginity,  your  old  virginity,  is  like  one 
of  our  French  withered  pears,  it  looks  ill,  it  eats 
drily  ;  marry,  'tis  a  withered  pear ;  it  was  formerly 
better ;  marry,  yet  'tis  a  withered  pear  :  will  you 
any  thing  with  it  ? 

Hcl.   Not  my  virginity  yet.   .   .   . 
There  shall  your  master  have  a  thousand  loves,        iSo 
A  mother  and  a  mistress  and  a  friend, 
A  phcenix,  captain  and  an  enemy, 
A  guide,  a  goddess,  and  a  sovereign, 
A  counsellor,  a  traitress,  and  a  dear ; 
His  humble  ambition,  proud  humility, 
His  jarring  concord,  and  his  discord  dulcet. 
His  faith,  his  sweet  disaster ;  with  a  world 
Of  pretty,  fond,  adoptions  Christendoms, 
That  blinking  Cupid  gossips.      Now  shall  he — 
I  know  not  what  he  shall.      God  send  him  well !      190 
The  court 's  a  learning  place,  and  he  is  one — 

Par.  What  one,  i'  faith  ? 

Hel.  That  I  wish  well.     'Tis  pity — 

Par.  What 's  pity  ? 

Hel.  That  wishing  well  had  not  a  body  in 't, 

172.    date,    (i)   time  of   life,  More    probably    the    preceding 

(2)  the  fruit.  dialogue  (from  v.  122)  has  been 

179.  There  is  clearly  a  hiatus  clumsily  pieced  with  the  con- 
here.  Hanmer  attempted  to  text,  involving  the  loss  of  at 
patch  it  by  reading  :  yet.  You  're  least  several  lines. 
for  the  Court  in  v.  179,  Malone  188.  adoptious  Christendoms, 
by  reading  :  with  it  f  I  am  now  names  arbitrarily  given. 
bound  for  the  court  in  v.  178.  189.  That  .  .  .  gossips,  for 
But  neither  forms  a  sufficient  which  Cupid  stands  sponsor  ; 
transition    to    Helen's    speech.  which  Love  invents. 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well     act  i 

Which  might  be  felt ;  that  we,  the  poorer  born, 
Whose  baser  stars  do  shut  us  up  in  wislies, 
Mi^ht  with  effects  of  them  follow  our  friends, 
And  show  what  we  alone  must  think,  which  never 
Returns  us  thanks.  zoo 

Enter  Page. 

Page.   Monsieur  Parolles,  my  lord  calls  for  you. 

[Exit. 

Far.  Little  Helen,  farewell :  if  I  can  remember 
thee,  I  will  think  of  thee  at  court. 

ffel.  Monsieur  Parolles,  you  were  born  under 
a  charitable  star. 

Far.   Under  Mars,  I. 

HeL   I  especially  think,  under  Mars. 

Far.  Why  under  Mars  ? 

Bel.  The  wars  have  so  kept  you  under  that 
you  must  needs  be  born  under  Mars.  210 

Far.   When  he  was  predominant. 

JleL  When  he  was  retrograde,  I  think,  rather. 

Far.  Why  think  you  so  ? 

HeL   You  go  so  much  backward  when  you  fight. 

Far.  That 's  for  advantage. 

HeL  So  is  running  away,  when  fear  proposes 
the  safety  :  but  the  composition  that  your  valour 
and  fear  makes  in  you  is  a  virtue  of  a  good  wing, 
and  I  like  the  wear  well. 

Far.  I  am  so  full  of  businesses,  I  cannot  220 
answer  thee  acutely.  I  will  return  perfect 
courtier ;  in  the  which,  my  instruction  shall  serve 
to  naturalize  thee,  so  thou  wilt  be  capable  of  a 
courtier's  counsel  and  understand  what  advice 
shall  thrust  upon  thee  ;  else  thou  diest  in  thine 
unthankfulness,  and  thine  ignorance  makes  thee 
away  :  farewell.     When  thou  hast  leisure,  say  thy 

199.   alone  must  think,  may  only  think. 
126 


sc.  II     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

prayers ;  when  thou  hast  none,  remember  thy 
friends  :  get  thee  a  good  husband,  and  use  him 
as  he  uses  thee  :  so,  farewell.  \_Exit.  230 

Hel.  Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie, 
Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven  :  the  fated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope,  only  doth  backward  pull 
Our  slow  designs  when  we  ourselves  are  dull. 
What  power  is  it  which  mounts  my  love  so  high, 
That  makes  me  see,  and  cannot  feed  mine  eye  ? 
The  miglitiest  space  in  fortune  nature  brings 
To  join  like  likes  and  kiss  like  native  things. 
Impossible  be  strange  attempts  to  those 
That  weigh  their  pains  in  sense  and  do  suppose       240 
What  hath  been  cannot  be  :  who  ever  strove 
To  show  her  merit,  that  did  miss  her  love  ? 
The  king's  disease — my  project  may  deceive  me, 
But  my  intents  are  fix'd  and  will  not  leave  me. 

\Exit. 


Scene  II.     Paris.      The  King's  palace. 

Flourish  of  cor?iets.     Enter  the  King  of  France, 
with  letters,  and  divers  Attendants . 

King.  The  Florentines  and  Senoys  are  by  the 
ears ; 
Have  fought  with  equal  fortune  and  continue 
A  braving  war. 

First  Lord.        So  'tis  reported,  sir. 
King.     Nay,    'tis   most    credible ;    we    here   re- 
ceive it 
A  certainty,  vouch'd  from  our  cousin  Austria, 
With  caution  that  the  Florentine  will  move  us 

237.    The   mightiest  space  in  i.    Senoys,  Siennese. 

/or/«7/^,  things  divided  in  fortune  3.   braving,  defi^iXii. 

by  the  utmost  space.  6.   move  us,  appeal  to  us. 

127 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well     act  i 

For  speedy  aid  ;  wherein  our  dearest  friend 
Prejudicates  the  business  and  would  seem 
To  have  us  make  denial. 

First  Lord.  His  love  and  wisdom, 

Approved  so  to  your  majesty,  may  plead  lo 

For  amplest  credence. 

King.  He  hath  arm'd  our  answer, 

And  Florence  is  denied  before  he  comes  • 
Yet,  for  our  gentlemen  that  mean  to  see 
The  Tuscan  service,  freely  have  they  leave 
To  stand  on  either  part. 

Sec.  Lord.  It  well  may  serve 

A  nursery  to  our  gentry,  who  are  sick 
For  breathing  and  exploit. 

King.  What 's  he  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  arid  Parolles. 

First  Lord.   It  is  the  Count  Rousillon,  my  good 
lord, 
Young  Bertram. 

King.  Youth,  thou  bear'st  thy  father's  face ; 

Frank  nature,  rather  curious  than  in  haste,  20 

Hath  well   composed  thee.     Thy   father's   moral 

parts 
Mayst  thou  inherit  too  !      Welcome  to  Paris. 

Ber.   My  thanks  and  duty  are  your  majesty's. 

King.  I  would  I  had  that  corporal  soundness  now, 
As  when  thy  father  and  myself  in  friendship 
First  tried  our  soldiership  !     He  did  look  far 
Into  the  service  of  the  time  and  was 
Discipled  of  the  bravest :  he  lasted  long ; 
But  on  us  both  did  haggish  age  steal  on 

17.   breathing,  exercise.  26.   he  did  look  far  info  tht 

20.    curious,   minutely    care-      sernice  of  the   time,    had    keen 
ful.  insight  in  the  affairs  of  war. 

128 


sc.  11     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

And  wore  us  out  of  act.     It  much  repairs  me  30 

To  talk  of  your  good  father.      In  his  youth 

He  had  the  wit  which  I  can  well  observe 

To-day  in  our  young  lords ;  but  they  may  jest 

Till  their  own  scorn  return  to  them  unnoted 

Ere  they  can  hide  their  levity  in  honour : 

So  like  a  courtier,  contempt  nor  bitterness 

Were  in  his  pride  or  sharpness ;  if  they  were, 

His  equal  had  awaked  them,  and  his  honour, 

Clock  to  itself,  knew  the  true  minute  when 

Exception  bid  him  speak,  and  at  this  time  40 

His  tongue  obey'd  his  hand  :  who  were  below  him 

He  used  as  creatures  of  another  place 

And  bow'd  his  eminent  top  to  their  low  ranks, 

Making  them  proud  of  his  humility, 

In  their  poor  praise  he  humbled.     Such  a  man 

Wight  be  a  copy  to  these  younger  times  ; 

Vrhich,  foUow'd  well,  would  demonstrate  them  now 

But  goers  backward. 

Ber.  His  good  remembrance,  sir, 

Lies  richer  in  your  thoughts  than  on  his  tomb ; 
So  in  approof  lives  not  his  epitaph  50 

As  in  your  royal  speech. 

King.    Would    I   were  with  him !     He  would 
always  say — 
Methinks  I  hear  him  now ;  his  plausive  words 
He  scatter'd  not  in  ears,  but  grafted  them, 

30.   act,  active  service.  45.   In   their  poor  praise   he 

36.    So    like    a    courtier,    he  humbled,      he      himself      being 

was  so  hke  a  true  courtier,  that  humbled     by     receiving     their 

neither  contempt  nor  bitterness,  praise,   as  they  were  honoured 

etc.  by  his  condescension.      But  the 

40.  £^r^///o«,^  contradiction.  reading  is  not  altogether  satis- 

41.  his   hand,    its    {i.e.    the      factory. 

clock  s).  ^Q     ^^   approof,    in    general 

42.  I.e.  he  treated  them  with      recognition, 
the  ceremonious  politeness  due 

to  strangers.  53.  plausive,  winning. 

VOL.  Ill  139  K 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  i 

To  grow  there  and  to  bear, — '  Let  me  not  live,' — 

This  his  good  melancholy  oft  began, 

On  the  catastrophe  and  heel  of  pastime. 

When  it  was  out, — '  Let  me  not  live,'  quoth  he, 

'  After  my  flame  lacks  oil,  to  be  the  snuff 

Of  younger  spirits,  Avhose  apprehensive  senses  60 

All  but  new  things  disdain  ;  whose  judgements  are 

Mere  fathers  of  their  garments  ;  whose  constancies 

Expire  before  their  fashions.'     This  he  wish'd  : 

I  after  him  do  after  him  wish  too, 

Since  I  nor  wax  nor  honey  can  bring  home, 

I  quickly  were  dissolved  from  my  hive, 

To  give  some  labourers  room. 

Sec.  Lord.  You  are  loved,  sir ; 

They  that  least  lend  it  you  shall  lack  you  first. 

King.   I  fill  a  place,  I  know 't.      How  long  is  't, 
count. 
Since  the  physician  at  your  father's  died  ?  70 

He  was  much  famed. 

Ber.  Some  six  months  since,  my  lord. 

King.   If  he  were  living,  I  would  try  him  yet. 
Lend  me  an  arm ;  the  rest  have  worn  me  out 
With  several  applications  :  nature  and  sickness 
Debate  it  at  their  leisure.     Welcome,  count ; 
My  son 's  no  dearer. 

Ber.  Thank  your  majesty. 

\Exeunt.     Flourish. 

59.  to  be  the  snuff  of  younger      pressed. 

spirits,    to    be   regarded    as    a  t^,.  With  several  applications, 

worn-out  old  man  by  the  young.       with    a   succession    of  different 

60.  apprehensive,   easily   im-      treatments. 


130 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 


Scene  III.     Rousillon.     The  Couni''?,  palace. 

Enter  Countess,  Steward,  and  Clown, 

Count.  I  will  now  hear;  what  say  you  of  this 
gentlewoman  ? 

Stew.  Madam,  the  care  I  have  had  to  even  your 
content,  I  wish  might  be  found  in  the  calendar 
of  my  past  endeavours ;  for  then  we  wound  our 
modesty  and  make  foul  the  clearness  of  our  de- 
servings,  when  of  ourselves  we  publish  them. 

Count.  What  does  this  knave  here  ?  Get  you 
gone,  sirrah  :  the  complaints  I  have  heard  of  you 
I  do  not  all  believe  :  'tis  my  slowness  that  I  do  lo 
not ;  for  I  know  you  lack  not  folly  to  commit 
them,  and  have  ability  enough  to  make  such 
knaveries  yours. 

Clo.  'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  madam,  I  am  a 
poor  fellow. 

Count.   Well,  sir. 

Clo.   No,  madam,  'tis  not   so  well   that   I   am 
poor,  though  many  of  the  rich  are  damned  :  but, 
if  I  may  have  your  ladyship's  good  will  to  go  to 
the  world,  Isbel  the  woman  and  I  will  do  as  we    20 
may. 

Count.  Wilt  thou  needs  be  a  beggar? 

Clo.   I  do  beg  your  good  will  in  this  case. 

Count.   In  what  case  ? 

Clo.  In  Isbel's  case  and  mine  own.     Service 
no  heritage  :   and  I  think  I  shall  never  have  the 
blessing  of  God  till  I  have  issue  o'  my  body ;  for 
they  say  barrrs  are  blessings. 

3.   even    your   content,    com-  28.    barns.      The  later  Folios 

pletely  content  you.  attempt  to   render   the  quibble 

19.  go  to  the  world,  be  mar-  more      obvious      by      printing 

ried.  '  beams. ' 


All 's  V/ell  That  Ends  Well    act  i 

Coufit  Tell  me  thy  reason  why  thou  wilt  marry. 

Clo.   My  poor  body,  madam,  requires  it :  I  am  30 
driven  on  by  the  flesh  ;   and  he  must  needs  go 
that  the  devil  drives. 

Count.   Is  this  all  your  worship's  reason  ? 

Clo.  Faith,  madam,  I  have  other  holy  reasons, 
such  as  they  are. 

Count   May  the  world  know  them  ? 

Clo.  I  have  been,  madam,  a  wicked  creature, 
as  you  and  all  flesh  and  blood  are ;  and,  indeed, 
I  do  marry  that  I  may  repent. 

Count.  Thy  marriage,  sooner  than  thy  wicked-    40 
ness. 

Clo.  I  am  out  o'  friends,  madam  ;  and  I  hope 
to  have  friends  for  my  wife's  sake. 

Count.   Such  friends  are  thine  enemies,  knave. 

Clo.  You  're  shallow,  madam,  in  great  friends ; 
for  the  knaves  come  to  do  that  for  me  which  I 
am  aweary  of.  He  that  ears  my  land  spares  my 
teani  and  gives  me  leave  to  in  the  crop ;  if  I  be 
his  cuckold,  he  's  my  drudge  :  he  that  comforts  my 
wife  is  the  cherisher  of  my  flesh  and  blood  ;  he  50 
that  cherishes  my  flesh  and  blood  loves  my  flesh 
and  blood  ;  he  that  loves  my  flesh  and  blood  is  my 
friend  :  ergo,  he  that  kisses  my  wife  is  my  friend. 
If  men  could  be  contented  to  be  what  they  are, 
there  were  no  fear  in  marriage  ;  for  young  Charbon 
the  puritan  and  old  Poysam  the  papist,  hovvsom- 
e'er  their  hearts  are  severed  in  religion,  their  heads 
are  both  one ;  they  may  joul  horns  together,  like 
any  deer  i'  the  herd. 

45.  are  shallow  in, ha.wtsYighl      These  names  possibly  stand  for 
comprehension  of.  'Chnirbonne'    and     '  Poisson,' 

47.  ^arj,  ploughs.  •  alluding  to  the  respective  lenten 

fare   of    the    Puritan   and    the 

48.  to  tn,  to  get  m,  har\'est.        Papist  ' 

55.    Charbon   .   .   .    Poysam.  58.  joul,  dash. 

132 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Cou7it.   Wilt  thou  ever  be  a  foul-mouthed  and   60 
calumnious  knave  ? 

Clo.  A  prophet  I,  madam  ;  and  I  speak  the  truth 
the  next  way  : 

For  I  the  ballad  will  repeat, 

Which  men  full  true  shall  find ; 
Your  marriage  comes  by  destiny, 
Your  cuckoo  sings  by  kind. 
Count.    Get  you  gone,  sir ;   I  '11  talk  with  you 
more  anon. 

Stew.   May  it  please  you,   madam,  that  he  bid   70 
Helen  come  to  you  :  of  her  I  am  to  speak. 

Count.    Sirrah,  tell   my  gentlewoman  I   would 
speak  with  her  ;  Helen,  I  mean. 

Clo.   Was  this  fair  face  the  cause,  quoth  she, 
Why  the  Grecians  sacked  Troy  ? 
Fond  done,  done  fond. 

Was  this  King  Priam's  joy  ? 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood, 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood, 

And  gave  this  sentence  then  ;  80 

Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good, 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good, 
There 's  yet  one  good  in  ten. 
Count.  What,  one  good  in   ten  ?   you  corrupt 
the  song,  sirrah. 

Clo.   One  good  woman  in  ten,   madam  ;  which 
is   a   purifying  o'   the   song :    would    God   would 

63.  next,  nearest.  74-  The  clown's  verse  is  prob- 

ably adapted  from  a  lost  ballad 

64.  This  -ballad    seems  to  be      ^^jg^^j  -^^  gt^    p,gg    ^^^      y^^^ 

a  reminiscence   of  some   verses  Lamentation  of  Hecuba  and  the 

quoted  by  Steevens  from  John  Ladyes  of  Troy. 
Grange's  Garde'n  (ic:yy) — 

''                      \   0/  /  I  j,g_    Fond,  foolishly. 

Content  yourself  as  well  as  I,  83.     Tkere  's  yet  one  good  in 

Let  reason  rule  your  mind :  ^  .u  ■  • 

As  cuckolds  come  by  destiny  ^«« '^    ^^^   genmne  version    ran, 

So  cuckoos  sing  by  kind.  '  There 's  yet  nine  good  in  ten." 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  i 

serve  the  world  so  all  the  year !  we  'Id  find  no 
fault  with  the  tithe-woman,  if  I  were  the  parson. 
One  in  ten,  quoth  a' !  An  we  might  have  a  good  90 
woman  born  but  one  every  blazing  star,  or  at  an 
earthquake,  'twould  mend  the  lottery  well :  a  man 
may  draw  his  heart  out,  ere  a'  pluck  one. 

Count.  You  '11  be  gone,  sir  knave,  and  do  as  I 
command  you. 

Clo.  That  man  should  be  at  woman's  command, 
and  yet  no  hurt  done  !  Though  honesty  be  no 
puritan,  yet  it  will  do  no  hurt ;  it  will  wear  the 
surplice  of  humility  over  the  black  gown  of  a  big 
heart.  I  am  going,  forsooth  :  the  business  is  for  100 
Helen  to  come  hither.  \Exit. 

Coinit.   Well,  now. 

Stezii.  I  know,  madam,  you  love  your  gentle- 
woman entirely. 

Count.  Faith,  I  do :  her  father  bequeathed 
her  to  me  ;  and  she  herself,  without  other  advan- 
tage, may  lawfully  make  title  to  as  much  love  as 
she  finds  :  there  is  more  owing  her  than  is  paid ; 
and  more  shall  be  paid  her  than  she  '11  demand. 

Stew.  Madam,  I  was  very  late  more  near  her  no 
than  I  think  she  wished  me  :  alone  she  was,  and 
did  communicate  to  herself  her  own  words  to  her 
own  ears  ;  she  thought,  I  dare  vow  for  her,  they 
touched  not  any  stranger  sense.  Her  matter  was, 
she  loved  your  son  :  Fortune,  she  said,  was  no 
goddess,  that  had  put  such  difference  betwixt 
their  two  estates  ;  Love  no  god,  that  would  not 
extend  his  might,  only  where  qualities  were  level ; 
Dian  no  queen  of  virgins,  that  would  suffer  her 

99.   big  heart,  haughty  spirit.  bald,   are    supported    especially 

119.  Dianno  queen.    Ff  have  by  the  hymn  to  Diana  m.  Much 

queen,  eic.    The  first  two  words,  y4£?t7,  v.  3.  13,  where  Hero  issimi- 

felicitously    supplied    by   Theo-  lerly  called  her  'virgin  knight.' 


sc.  in    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

poor  knight  surprised,  without  rescue  in  the  first  120 
assault  or  ransom  afterward.  This  she  delivered 
in  the  most  bitter  touch  of  sorrow  that  e'er  I 
heard  virgin  exclaim  in  :  which  I  held  my  duty 
speedily  to  acquaint  you  withal ;  sithence,  in  the 
loss  that  may  happen,  it  concerns  you  something 
to  know  it. 

Count.  You  have  discharged  this  honestly; 
keep  it  to  yourself:  many  likelihoods  informed 
me  of  this  before,  which  hung  so  tottering  in  the 
balance  that  I  could  neither  believe  nor  misdoubt.  130 
Pray  you,  leave  me  :  stall  this  in  your  bosom  ;  and 
I  thank  you  for  your  honest  care  :  I  will  speak 
with  you  further  anon.  [Exit  Steward. 

Enter  Helena. 

Even  so  it  was  with  me  when  I  was  j'oung : 

If  ever  we  are  nature's,  these  are  ours  ;  this  thorn 
Doth  to  our  rose  of  youth  rightly  belong  ; 

Our  blood  to  us,  this  to  our  blood  is  born ; 
It  is  the  show  and  seal  of  nature's  truth, 
Where  love's  strong  passion  is  impress'd  in  youth  : 
By  our  remembrances  of  days  foregone,  140 

Such  were  our   faults,  or  then  we  thought   them 

none. 
Her  eye  is  sick  on  't  :  I  observe  her  now, 

Hel.  What  is  your  pleasure,  madam  ? 

Count.  You  know,  Helen, 

I  am  a  mother  to  you. 

135.     fhese   (stings    of    secret  141.   or  then  tve  thought  them 

passion)  ;  the  plural  is  probably  none.       The    Countess  qualifies 

suggested   by    'ours,'    the    idea  her  word  '  faults,' as  expressing 

being  immediately  expressed  by  not  her  early   'remembrances,' 

'  this  thorn  '  in  relation  to  '  our  but  her  mature  judgment  upon 

rose    of  youth.'      For  ever  we  them; — '  faults,  or  rather  we  did 

should     perhaps    read    e'er,    as  not  then  take  them  for  such.' 
suggested  by  the  Camb.  edd.  142.  on  7,  with  this  disease. 

^35 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  i 

Hel.  Mine  honourable  mistress. 

Coiait.  Nay,  a  mother  : 

Why  not  a  mother  ?     When  I  said  '  a  mother,' 
Alethought  you  saw  a  serpent :  what 's  in  '  mother,' 
That  you  start  at  it  ?     I  say,  I  am  your  mother ; 
And  put  you  in  the  catalogue  of  those 
That  were  enwombed  mine  :  'tis  often  seen  150 

Adoption  strives  with  nature  and  choice  breeds 
A  native  slip  to  us  from  foreign  seeds  : 
You  ne'er  oppress'd  me  with  a  mother's  groan, 
Yet  I  express  to  you  a  mother's  care  : 
God's  mercy,  maiden  !  does  it  curd  thy  blood 
To  say  I  am  thy  mother  ?     What 's  the  matter, 
That  this  distemper'd  messenger  of  wet, 
The  many-colour'd  Iris,  rounds  thine  eye? 
Why  ?  that  you  are  my  daughter  ? 

Hel.  That  I  am  not. 

Count.   I  say,  I  am  your  mother. 

ffel.  Pardon,  madam  ;  160 

The  Count  Rousillon  cannot  be  my  brother : 
I  am  from  humble,  he  from  honour'd  name ; 
No  note  upon  my  parents,  his  all  noble  : 
My  master,  my  dear  lord  he  is  ;  and  I 
His  servant  live,  and  will  his  vassal  die  : 
He  must  not  be  my  brother. 

Coimt  Nor  I  your  mother? 

Hel.  You  are  my  mother,  madam  ;  would  you 
were, — 
So  that  my  lord  your  son  were  not  my  brother, — 
Indeed  my  mother  !  or  were  you  both  our  mothers, 
I  care  no  more  for  than  I  do  for  heaven,  170 

So  I  were  not  his  sister.     Can  't  no  other, 
But,  I  your  daughter,  he  must  be  my  brother? 

163.  «i7/6',  mark  of  distinction.  170.    /  care   no    more  for,  it 

169.  both ourmot hers,  mother      would  be  as  little  a  grief  to  me 
to  tis  both.  as  the  prospect  of  heaven. 

136 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Count.  Yes,  Helen,  you  might  be  my  daughter- 
in-law  : 
God  shield  you  mean  it  not !  daughter  and  mother 
So  strive  upon  your  pulse.     What,  pale  again  ? 
My  fear  hath  catch'd  your  fondness  :  now  I  see 
The  mystery  of  your  loneliness,  and  find 
Your  salt  tears'  head  :  now  to  all  sense  'tis  gross 
You  love  my  son  ;  invention  is  ashamed, 
Against  the  proclamation  of  thy  passion,  180 

To  say  thou  dost  not :   therefore  tell  me  true ; 
But  tell  me  then,  'tis  so ;  for,  look,  thy  cheeks 
Confess  it,  th'  one  to  th'  other  ;  and  thine  eyes 
See  it  so  grossly  shown  in  thy  behaviours 
That  in  their  kind  they  speak  it :  only  sin 
And  hellish  obstinacy  tie  thy  tongue. 
That  truth  should  be  suspected.     Speak,  is  't  so  ? 
If  it  be  so,  you  have  wound  a  goodly  clew ; 
If  it  be  not,  forswear  't :  howe'er,  I  charge  thee, 
As  heaven  shall  work  in  me  for  thine  avail,  xgo 

To  tell  me  truly. 

Hel.  Good  madam,  pardon  me  ! 

Count.   Do  you  love  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Your  pardon,  noble  mistress  ! 

Count.  Love  you  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Do  not  you  love  him,  madam  ? 

Count.  Go  not  about ;  my  love  hath  in  't  a  bond, 
Whereof  the  world  takes  note  :  come,  come,  disclose 
The  state  of  your  affection  ;  for  your  passions 
Have  to  the  full  appeach'd. 

Hel.  Then,  I  confess. 

Here  on  my  knee,  before  high  heaven  and  you. 
That  before  you,  and  next  unto  high  heaven, 

174.   daughter  and  mother  so  '^■77-     loneliness,    Theobald's 

strive  upon  your  pulse,  daugh-  correction  for  Ff  '  loveliness,' 
terly  love  and  dread  of  accepting 

the  name  of  daughter  contend  197.      appeack'd,       informed 

in  her  blood.  against  you. 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  V/ell    act  i 

I  love  your  son.  200     ^ 

My  friends  were  poor,  but  honest ;  so  's  my  love  : 

Be  not  ofifended ;  for  it  hurts  not  him 

That  he  is  loved  of  me  :  I  follow  him  not 

By  any  token  of  presumptuous  suit ; 

Nor  would  I  have  him  till  I  do  deserve  him ; 

Yet  never  know  how  that  desert  should  be. 

I  know  I  love  in  vain,  strive  against  hope ; 

Yet  in  this  captious  and  intenible  sieve 

I  still  pour  in  the  waters  of  my  love 

And  lack  not  to  lose  stiil  :  thus,  Indian-like,  210 

Religious  in  mine  error,  I  adore 

The  sun,  that  looks  upon  his  worshipper, 

But  knows  of  him  no  more.      My  dearest  madam, 

Let  not  your  hate  encounter  with  my  love 

For  loving  where  you  do  :  but  if  yourself. 

Whose  aged  honour  cites  a  virtuous  youth. 

Did  ever  in  so  true  a  flame  of  liking 

Wish  chastely  and  love  dearly,  that  your  Dian 

Was  both  herself  and  love ;  O,  then,  give  pity 

To  her,  whose  state  is  such  that  cannot  choose        220 

But  lend  and  give  where  she  is  sure  to  lose ; 

That  Feeks  not  to  find  that  her  search  implies, 

But  riddle-like  lives  sweetly  where  she  dies  ! 

Count.    Had  you  not   lately  an  intent, — speak 
truly, — 
To  go  to  Paris? 

Hel.  Madam,  I  had. 

Count.  Wherefore?  tell  true. 

Hel.  I  will  tell  truth  ;  by  grace  itself  I  swear. 
You  know  my  father  left  me  some  prescriptions 
Of  rare  and  proved  effects,  such  as  his  reading 

201.  friends,  kindred.  210.   to  lose  still,  though  still 

208.   captious    and   intenible,  losing, 
apt     to     receive     but     not     to  216.  cites,   announces,   bears 

hold.  witness  to. 

138 


SC.  Ill 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 


And  manifest  experience  had  collected 

For  general  sovereignty  ;  and  that  he  will'd  me        230 

In  heedfull'st  reservation  to  bestow  them, 

As  notes  whose  faculties  inclusive  were 

More  than  they  were  in  note  :  amongst  the  rest 

There  is  a  remedy,  approved,  set  down, 

To  cure  the  desperate  languishings  whereof 

The  king  is  render'd  lost. 

Count.  This  was  your  motive 

For  Paris,  was  it  ?  speak. 

Hcl.   My  lord  your  son  made  me  to  think  of  this  ; 
Else  Paris  and  the  medicine  and  the  king 
Had  from  the  conversation  of  my  thoughts  240 

Haply  been  absent  then. 

Count.  But  think  you,  Helen, 

If  you  should  tender  your  supposed  aid, 
He  would  receive  it  ?  he  and  his  physicians 
Are  of  a  mind  ;  he,  that  they  cannot  help  him, 
They,  that  they  cannot  help  :  how  shall  they  credit 
A  poor  unlearned  virgin,  when  the  schools, 
Embowell'd  of  their  doctrine,  have  left  off 
The  dar.ger  to  itself? 

Hel.  There  's  something  in  't, 

More  than  my  father's  skill,  which  was  the  greatest 
Of  his  profession,  that  his  good  receipt  250 

Shall  for  my  legacy  be  sanctified 
By  the  luckiest  stars  in  heaven  :  and,  would  your 

honour 
But  give  me  leave  to  try  success,  I  'Id  venture 

230.  general  sovereignty  ,so'^-  in  note'  referring  strictly,  not 
ereign  remedies  in  all  cases.  to  the  prescriptions,  which  were 

231.  In  heedfulV st  reservation  not  known  at  all,  but  to  the 
to  bestow  them,  to  keep  them  particular  medicaments  pre- 
with  the  utrfiost  care.  scribed. 

232.  notes,  etc.,  prescriptions  034.    approved,  tried. 

more    potent    than   was    gener-  .  ,    .  .  .  j 

„      ,  ^  T-v,  •  2-?6.   render  d,  reported, 

ally    known.       The    expression  •*  '      ^ 

is  slightly  confused,  '  whose  .  .  ,  247.   Embowell'd,  exhausted. 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  n 

The  well-lost  life  of  mine  on  his  grace's  cure 
By  such  a  day  and  hour. 

Count.  Dost  thou  believe 't  ? 

Hel.   Ay,  madam,  knowingly. 

Coimt.   Why,  Helen,  thou  shalt  have  my  leave 
and  love, 
Means  and  attendants  and  my  loving  greetings 
To  those  of  mine  in  court :   I  '11  stay  at  home 
And  pray  God's  blessing  into  thy  attempt :  260 

Be  gone  to-morrow  ;  and  be  sure  of  tliis, 
What  I  can  help  thee  to  thou  shalt  not  miss. 

\Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I.     Paris.      The  King's  palace. 

Flourish  of  cornets.  Enter  the  King,  attended 
with  divers  young  Lords  taking  leave  for  the 
Florentine  7var ;  Bertram,  arid  Parolles. 

Ki7ig.     Farewell,    young    lords ;    these    warlike 
principles 
Do  not  throw  from  you :  and  you,  my  lords,  fare- 
well : 
Share  the  advice  betwixt  you  ;  if  both  gain,  all 
The  "ift  doth  stretch  itself  as  'tis  received. 
And  is  enough  for  both. 

First  Lord.  'Tis  our  hope,  sir, 

254.   on  Ms  graces   cure   by  the  Ff  Lord  G. '  and  '  Lord  E.' 

such  a  day  and  hour,  on  having  respectively.      G.   and  E.   prob- 

cured   him    by   a  specified    day  ably  stood  for  two  of  the  actors, 

and  hour.  the  list  of  whom  prefixed  to  F^ 

Sc.  I.    In  this  scene  the  first  includes    the    names    Gilburne, 

and  second  '  Lords '  are  called  in  Gough,  and  Ecclestone. 

IAD 


sc.  I     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

After  well-enter'd  soldiers,  to  return 
And  find  your  grace  in  health. 

King.   No,  no,  it  cannot  be ;  and  yet  my  heart 
Will  not  confess  he  owes  the  malady 
That    doth    my    life    besiege.       Farewell,    young 

lords ;  lo 

Whether  I  live  or  die,  be  you  the  sons 
Of  worthy  Frenchmen  :  let  higher  Italy, — 
Those  bated  that  inherit  but  the  fall 
Of  the  last  monarchy, — see  that  you  come 
Not  to  woo  honour,  but  to  wed  it ;  when 
The  bravest  questant  shrinks,  find  what  you  seek, 
That  fame  may  cry  you  loud  :  I  say,  farewell. 

Sec.  Lord.   Health,  at  your  bidding,  serve  your 
majesty  ! 

King.     Those    girls    of    Italy,    take    heed    of 
them  : 
They  say,  our  French  lack  language  to  deny  20 

If  they  demand  :  beware  of  being  captives 
Before  you  serve. 

Both.  Our  hearts  receive  your  warnings. 

King.  Farewell.      Come  hither  to  me. 

\E.\it,  attended. 

First  Lord.   O  my  sweet  lord,  that  you  will  stay 
behind  us  ! 

6.   After  -well-enter  d  soldiers.  Sienna  belongs)  or  the  '  noblest 

when  we  ai'e  thoroughly  initiated  Italians';   bated  as   'excepted' 

in  war.  or    '  beaten  down. '      Coleridge 

9.   owes,  has.  proposed  '  hired,'  Hanmer  '  bas- 

,  ,     ,  .   ,         ,,  ,         ,„  tards '  ;    both  words    seem    too 

12.     let     hiijher    Italy,     etc.  ^.  '   .         .         ^,  .      . 

rr,  1  •       .  T    .  ,u^  disparaging    for     the     context. 

The  general  sense  is:    '  Let  the  o  if    •  j?.     ,  u-   u  ■    t.  i      •       ^ 

■,,,„,  ■  -u    -^         f  Schmidts  'high     Italy  is  plau- 

Italians,  those  mere  inheritors  of  &  /        r 

the  fall  of  Rome,  see, '  etc.     But  ^'°'^- 

both  AigAer'and  bated  are  ob-  i^.    Not  merely  to  aspire  to 

scure,    and    probably    coiTupt.  honour,   but  to   make  it  exclu- 

Higher    Italy    has    been    vari-  sively  yours. 

ousiy  explained  as  '  upper  Italy ' 

(to  which  neither  Florence  nor  16.   questant,  aspirant. 

141 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  n 

Par.   'Tis  not  his  fault,  the  spark. 

Sec.  Lord.  O,  'tis  brave  wars  ! 

jPar.   Most  admirable  :  I  have  seen  those  wars. 

Ber.   I  am  commanded  here,  and  kept  a  coil 
with 
'Too  young'  and   'the  next  year'  and   "tis   too 
early.' 

Par.  An  thy  mind  stand  to  't,  boy,  steal  away 
bravely. 

Per.   I  shall  stay  here  the  forehorse  to  a  smock,   30 
Creaking  my  shoes  on  the  plain  masonry, 
Till  honour  be  bought  up  and  no  sword  worn 
But  one  to  dance  with  !    By  heaven,  I  '11  steal  away. 

Fi'rsf  Lord.   There  's  honour  in  the  theft. 

Par.  Commit  it,  count. 

Sec.   Lord.   I  am  your  accessary;  and  so,  fare- 
well. 

Ber.   I  grow  to  you,  and  our  parting  is  a  tortured 
body. 

First  Lord.   Farewell,  captain. 

Sec.  Lord.   Sweet  Monsieur  Parolles  ! 

Par.  Noble  heroes,  my  sword  and  yours  are  40 
kin.  Good  sparks  and  lustrous,  a  word,  good 
metals  :  you  shall  find  in  the  regiment  of  the 
Spinii  one  Captain  Spurio,  with  his  cicatrice,  an 
emblem  of  war,  here  on  his  sinister  cheek ;  it  was 
this  very  sword  entrenched  it :  say  to  him,  I  live ; 
and  observe  his  reports  for  me. 

First  Lord.   We  shall,  noble  captain. 

\Exeunt  Lords. 

Par.  Mars  dote  on  you  for  his  novices  !  what 
will  ye  do  ? 

Ber.   Stay  :  the  king.  50 

27.  I  am  .  .  .  kept  acoilxvith,  30.   the  forehorse  to  a  smock, 

they  make  a  fuss  about  my  being      playing  the  usher  to  ladies. 
too  young,  etc. 

142 


sc.  I     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 


Re-enter  King.     Bertram  and  Parolles  retire. 

Par.  [To  Ber.']  Use  a  more  spacious  ceremony 
to  the  noble  lords ;  you  have  restrained  yourself 
within  the  list  of  too  cold  an  adieu  :  be  more  ex- 
pressive to  them  :  for  they  wear  themselves  in  the 
cap  of  the  time,  there  do  muster  true  gait,  eat, 
speak,  and  move  under  the  influence  of  the  most 
received  star ;  and  though  the  devil  lead  the 
measure,  such  are  to  be  followed  :  after  them,  and 
take  a  more  dilated  farewell. 

Ber.   And  I  will  do  so.  60 

Far,  Worthy  fellows ;  and  like  to  prove  most 
sinewy  sv,-ord-men. 

\_Exeunt  Bertram  and  Parolles. 

Enter  Lafeu. 

Laf.   \Kneeling\   Pardon,  my  lord,  for  me  and 

for  my  tidings. 
King.   I  '11  fee  thee  to  stand  up. 
Laf.     Then    here 's    a    man    stands,    that    has 
brought  his  pardon. 
I  would  you  had  kneel'd,  my  lord,  to  ask  me  mercy, 
And  that  at  my  bidding  you  could  so  stand  up. 

King.   I  would  I  had  ;  so  I  had  broke  thy  pate, 
And  ask'd  thee  mercy  for  't. 

Laf.    Good  faith,  across :    but,  my  good  lord, 
'tis  thus  ;  70 

53.    list,  bounds.  65.     brought,     brought     with 

C4.  wear  themselves  in  the  cap  ^''"'  ^'^^  >«  ^^.^  °f  Pardon 

<;/M^/m.,  are  men  of  the  highest  ,.  7°-   f^^^-    'f-  /"    unskilful 

fashion.  •  '^"-       ^-^^^"^    playfully    applies 

,.     ,  the  phrase  used  of  the  tilter  who 

S^.   muster  true  gait,  display  ^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^, 

correct  modes  of  walking.  ^^^^.^  ^^^^  j^^^^^^   ^^  ^^^ij^j^g 

64.  fee ;  Theobald's  emenda-      with    the    point,    to    the   king's 
tion  for  Ff  '  see. '  retort. 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  n 

Will  you  be  cured  of  your  infirmity  ? 

King.   No. 

Laf.   O,  will  you  eat  no  grapes,  my  royal  fox  ? 
Yes,  but  you  will  my  noble  grapes,  an  if 
My  royal  fox  could  reach  them  :  I  have  seen  a 

medicine 
That 's  able  to  breathe  life  into  a  stone, 
Quicken  a  rock,  and  make  you  dance  canary 
With  spritely  fire  and  motion ;  whose  simple  touch 
Is  powerful  to  araise  King  Pepin,  nay, 
To  give  great  Charlemain  a  pen  in  's  hand  So 

And  write  to  her  a  love-line. 

King.  What  'her'  is  this? 

Laf.    Why,  Doctor  She  :  my  lord,  there 's  one 
arrived. 
If  you  will  see  her  :  now,  by  my  faith  and  honour, 
If  seriously  I  may  convey  my  thoughts 
In  this  my  light  deliverance,  I  have  spoke 
With  one  that,  in  her  sex,  her  years,  profession. 
Wisdom  and  constancy,  hath  amazed  me  more 
Than  I  dare  blame  my  weakness  :    will  you  see 

her, 
For  that  is  her  demand,  and  know  her  business  ? 
That  done,  laugh  well  at  me. 

King.  Now,  good  Lafeu, 

Bring  in  the  adn.iration  ;  that  we  with  thee 
May  spend  our  wonder  too,  or  take  off  thine 
By  wondering  how  thou  took'st  it. 

Laf.  Nay,  I  '11  fit  you, 

And  not  be  all  day  neither.  \Exit. 

King.  Thus  he   his   special  nothing    ever   pro- 
logues. 


go 


■'o 


75.   medicine,  physician.  82.     Doctor   She ;    so    Grant 

'j'j.   canary,  a  lively  ciance.  While  for  Ff  '  doctor  she.' 

79.   King  Pepin,  as  a  type  of  91.   the  admiration,  the  won- 

one  long  dead.  der. 

144 


sc.  I     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Re-enter  Lafeu,  with  Helena. 

Laf.  Nay,  come  your  ways. 

Kifig.  This  haste  hath  wings  indeed. 

Laf.   Nay,  come  your  ways  ; 
This  is  his  majesty ;  say  your  mind  to  him  : 
A  traitor  you  do  look  Uke ;  but  such  traitors 
His  majesty  seldom  fears  :   I  am  Cressid's  uncle,      loo 
That  dare  leave  two  together ;  fare  you  well. 

{Exit. 

King.  Now,  fair  one,  does  your  business  follow 
us  ? 

Hel.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 
Gerard  de  Narbon  was  my  father ; 
In  what  he  did  profess,  well  found. 

King.  I  knew  him. 

Hel.  The  rather  will  I  spare  my  praises  towards 
him  ; 
Knowing  him  is  enough.     On 's  bed  of  death 
Many  receipts  he  gave  me ;  chiefly  one, 
Which,  as  the  dearest  issue  of  his  practice, 
And  of  his  old  experience  the  only  darling,  no 

He  bade  me  store  up,  as  a  triple  eye, 
Safer  than  mine  own  two,  more  dear ;  I  have  so ; 
And,  hearing  your  high  majesty  is  touch'd 
With  that  malignant  cause  wherein  the  honour 
Of  my  dear  father's  gift  stands  chief  in  power, 
I  come  to  tender  it  and  my  appliance 
With  all  bound  humbleness. 

King.  We  thank  you,  maiden  ; 

But  may  not  be  so  credulous  of  cure, 
When  our  most  learned  doctors  leave  us  and 

q8.    majesty.      The  word  was  loo.  Cressid' s  uncle,  V&x\Az.t\xs,. 

colloquiallv  abbreviated   to  two  ,       ,      ,,  „„„•   „^j 

,,  ,,        'c,,    ,  u   .u  loq.  we// /o?^«a, well  equipped, 

syllables ;  Shakespeare  uses  both  -'  -'  m    1 1- 

the   abbreviated    and    the    full         109.  dearest  issue,  most  pre- 
form, cious  fruit. 

VOL.  Ill  145  "^ 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  n 

The  congregated  college  have  concluded  lao 

That  labouring  art  can  never  ransom  nature 

From  her  inaidible  estate  ;  I  say  we  must  not 

So  stain  our  judgement,  or  corrupt  our  hope, 

To  prostitute  our  past-cure  malady 

To  empirics,  or  to  dissever  so 

Our  great  self  and  our  credit,  to  esteem 

A  senseless  help  when  help  past  sense  we  deem. 

Hel.   My  duty  then  shall  pay  me  for  my  pains : 
I  will  no  more  enforce  mine  office  on  you  ; 
Humbly  entreating  from  your  royal  thoughts  130 

A  modest  one,  to  bear  me  back  again. 

King.    I    cannot   give    thee   less,   to   be    call'd 

grateful : 
Thou  thought'st  to  help  me  ;  and  such  thanks  I  give 
As  one  near  death  to  those  that  wish  him  live : 
But  what  at  full  I  know,  thou  know'st  no  part, 
I  knowing  all  my  peril,  thou  no  art. 

Hel.  What  I  can  do  can  do  no  hurt  to  try, 
Since  you  set  up  your  rest  'gainst  remedy. 
He  t!iat  of  greatest  works  is  finisher 
Oft  does  them  by  the  weakest  minister :  140 

So  holy  writ  in  babes  hath  judgement  shown. 
When  judges  have  been  babes ;  great  floods  have 

flown 
From  simple  sources,  and  great  seas  have  dried 
When  miracles  have  by  the  greatest  been  denied. 
Oft  expectation  fails  and  most  oft  there 
Where  most  it  promises,  and  oft  it  hits 
Where  hope  is  coldest  and  despair  most  fits. 
King.    I  must  not  hear  thee ;    fare  thee  well, 

kind  maid ; 

131.   A  modest  one,  of  moder-  138.   set  up  your  rest,  are  de- 
ate  approval,  a  simple  admission  cided. 

that  her  offer,  though  declined,  147.    Jits;    Ff 'shifts.'     The 

was  not  out  of  place.  emendation  is  Theobald's. 

146 


sc.  I     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Thy  pains  not  used  must  by  thyself  be  paid : 
Proffers  not  took  reap  thanks  for  their  reward.  150 

Hel.   Inspired  merit  so  by  breath  is  barr'd  : 
It  is  not  so  with  Him  that  all  things  knows 
As  'tis  with  us  that  square  our  guess  by  shows ; 
But  most  it  is  presumption  in  us  when 
The  help  of  heaven  we  count  the  act  of  men. 
Dear  sir,  to  my  endeavours  give  consent ; 
Of  heaven,  not  me,  make  an  experiment. 
I  am  not  an  impostor  that  proclaim 
Myself  against  the  level  of  mine  aim  ; 
But  know  I  think  and  think  I  know  most  sure         160 
My  art  is  not  past  power  nor  you  past  cure. 

King.   Art  thou  so  confident  ?  within  what  space 
Hopest  thou  my  cure  ? 

Hel.  The  great'st  grace  lending  grace, 

Ere  twice  the  horses  of  the  sun  shall  bring 
Their  fiery  torcher  his  diurnal  ring, 
Ere  twice  in  murk  and  occidental  damp 
Moist  Hesperus  hath  quench'd  his  sleepy  lamp, 
Or  four  and  twenty  times  the  pilot's  glass 
Hath  told  the  thievish  minutes  how  they  pass, 
What  is  infirm  from  your  sound  parts  shall  fly,         170 
Health  shall  live  free  and  sickness  freely  die. 

King.  Upon  thy  certainty  and  confidence 
What  darest  thou  venture  ? 

Hel.  Tax  of  impudence, 

A  strumpet's  boldness,  a  divulged  shame 
Traduced  by  odious  ballads  :  my  maiden's  name 
Sear'd  otherwise  :  nay,  worse  of  worst  extended, 

159.   against  the  level  of  mine  a  deliberate  archaism.      Shake- 

aim,  contrary  to  my  real  in  tea-  speare  uses  it  only  in  Gower's 

tion.  "  Prologue    to    Pericles,  ii.       No 

165.    torcher,  luminary.  satisfactory  emendation  has  been 

176.    nay;    Ff  'ne.'       '  Ne '  produced     (among     the     many 

cannot  be  right,  being  obsolete  attempted)  of  this  difficult  pas- 

m  Shakespeare's  time,  except  as  sage.      That    of    Singer,    here 


All 's  V/ell  That  Ends  Well   act  n 

With  vilest  torture  let  my  life  be  ended 

King.  Methinks  in  thee  some  blessed  spirit  doth 
speak 
His  powerful  sound  within  an  organ  weak : 
And  what  impossibility  would  slay  iSo 

In  common  sense,  sense  saves  another  way. 
Thy  life  is  dear ;  for  all  that  life  can  rate 
Worth  name  of  life  in  thee  hath  estimate, 
Youth,  beauty,  wisdom,  courage,  all 
That  happiness  and  prime  can  happy  call : 
Thou  this  to  hazard  needs  must  intimate 
Skill  infinite  or  monstrous  desperate. 
Sweet  practiser,  thy  physic  I  will  try. 
That  ministers  thine  own  death  if  I  die. 

Hel.   If  I  break  time,  or  flinch  in  property  igo 

Of  what  I  spoke,  unpitied  let  me  die, 
And  well  deserved  :  not  helping,  death  's  my  fee ; 
But,  if  I  help,  what  do  you  promise  me  ? 

King.   IMake  thy  demand. 

Hel.  But  will  you  make  it  even  ? 

King.    Ay,    by  my    sceptre   and    my  hopes    of 
heaven. 

Hel.  Then  shalt  thou  give  me  with  thy  kingly 
hand 
What  husband  in  thy  power  I  will  command  : 
Exempted  be  from  me  the  arrogance 
To  choose  from  forth  the  royal  blood  of  France, 
My  low  and  humble  name  to  propagate  :oo 

With  any  branch  or  image  of  thy  state  ; 
But  such  a  one,  thy  vassal,  whom  I  know 

adopted,  involves  the  minimum  187.   desperate,  reckless, 

of  change,  and  gives  a   phrase  ^  .     ,  , 

not  uncharacteristic    of  Shake-  .    190. /r^/^r/^,  particular  qual- 

,  J  itv  ;   if  I  fall  short  in  any  detail 

speare  s  manner  in  rhymed  con-         ■'  ' 

ceits  :    •  nay.  stretching  out  this      °^  "^^  P'"°'"'^^- 

worst   punishment   to   one  still  194.   jnake  it  even,   caury  it 

worse. '  out. 

148 


sc.  II     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Is  free  for  me  to  ask,  thee  to  bestow. 

King.   Here  is  my  hand ;  the  premises  observed, 
Thy  will  by  my  performance  shall  be  served  : 
So  make  the  choice  of  thy  own  time,  for  I, 
Thy  resolved  patient,  on  thee  still  rely. 
More  should  I  question  thee,  and  more  I  must, 
Though  more  to  know  could  not  be  more  to  trust, 
From  whence  thou  camest,  how  tended  on :  but 

rest 
Unquestion'd  welcome  and  undoubted  blest. 
Give  me  some  help  here,  ho  !     If  thou  proceed 
As  high  as  word,  my  deed  shall  match  thy  deed. 

\Flourish.     Exeunt. 


Scene  II.     Rousillon.      The  Covht's  J>aiace. 

Enter  Countess  and  Clown, 

Count.  Come  on,  sir ;  I  shall  now  put  you  to  the 
height  of  your  breeding. 

Clo.  I  will  show  myself  highly  fed  and  lowly 
taught  :  I  know  my  business  is  but  to  the  court. 

Count.  To  the  court !  why,  what  place  make  you 
special,  when  you  put  off  that  with  such  contempt  ? 
'But  to  the  court' ! 

Clo.  Truly,  madam,  if  God  have  lent  a  man 
any  manners,  he  may  easily  put  it  off  at  court : 
he  that  cannot  make  a  leg,  put  off 's  cap,  kiss  his 
hand  and  say  nothing,  has  neither  leg,  hands,  lip, 
nor  cap ;  and  indeed  such  a  fellow,  to  say  pre- 
cisely, were  not  for  the  court ;  but  for  me,  I  have 
an  answer  will  serve  all  men. 

Count.  Marry,  that 's  a  bountiful  answer  that 
fits  all  questions. 

Clo,    It   is   like    a    barber's   chair   that   fits    all 

lo.   make  a  leg,  a  serving-man's  bow. 
149 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  n 

buttocks,  the  pin-buttock,  the  quatch-buttock,  the 
brawn  buttock,  or  any  buttock. 

Count.    Will  your  answer  serve  fit   to  all  ques-   20 
tions? 

Clo.  As  fit  as  ten  groats  is  for  the  hand  of  an 
attorney,  as  your  French  crown  for  your  tafteta 
punk,  as  Tib's  rush  for  Tom's  forefinger,  as  a 
pancake  for  Shrove  Tuesday,  a  morris  for  May- 
day, as  the  nail  to  his  hole,  the  cuckold  to  his 
horn,  as  a  scolding  quean  to  a  wrangling  knave, 
as  the  nun's  lip  to  the  friar's  mouth,  nay,  as  the 
pudding  to  his  skin. 

Coujit.    Have   you,    I   say,   an   answer   of  such  30 
fitness  for  all  questions  ? 

Clo.  From  below  your  duke  to  beneath  your 
constable,  it  will  fit  any  question. 

Count.  It  must  be  an  answer  of  most  monstrous 
size  that  must  fit  all  demands. 

Clo.  But  a  trifle  neither,  in  good  faith,  if  the 
learned  should  speak  truth  of  it :  here  it  is,  and 
all  that  belongs  to  't.  Ask  me  if  I  am  a  courtier : 
it  shall  do  you  no  harm  to  learn. 

Count.  To  be  young  again,  if  we  could  :  I  will   40 
be  a  fool  in  question,  hoping  to  be  the  wiser  by 
your  answer.      I  pray  you,  sir,  are  you  a  courtier  ? 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir  !  There 's  a  simple  putting  off. 
More,  more,  a  hundred  of  them. 

Count.  Sir,  I  am  a  poor  friend  of  yours,  that 
loves  you. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir  !     Thick,  thick,  spare  not  me. 

Count.  I  think,  sir,  you  can  eat  none  of  this 
homely  meat. 

18.  pin-,  thin;   quatch-,  flat.  24.    '  Tib  and  Tom  '  were  cant 

23.  French  crown,  bald  head.  names  for  'low  and  vulgar  per- 

24.  The    rush-ring    used    in  sons,'  more  contemptuous  equi- 
informal  rustic  weddings.  valents  of  '  Jack  and  Jill." 


5° 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir  !  Nay,  put  me  to  't,  I  warrant 
you. 

Count.  You  were  lately  whipped,  sir,  as  I  think. 

Clo.   O  Lord,  sir  !  spare  not  me. 

Count.  Do  you  cry,  '  O  Lord,  sir ! '  at  your 
whipping,  and  '  spare  not  me '  ?  Indeed  your  '  O 
Lord,  sir!'  is  very  sequent  to  your  whipping :  you 
would  answer  very  well  to  a  whipping,  if  you  were 
but  bound  to  't. 

Clo.   I   ne'er  had  worse  luck  in  my  life  in  my 
'  O  Lord,  sir  ! '     I  see  things  may  serve  long,  but    60 
not  serve  ever. 

Count.  I  play  the  noble  housewife  with  the  time, 
To  entertain  't  so  merrily  with  a  fool. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir !  why,  there 't  serves  well 
again. 

Count.    An  end,   sir ;   to   your   business.     Give 
Helen  this. 
And  urge  her  to  a  present  answer  back : 
Commend  me  to  my  kinsmen  and  my  son  : 
This  is  not  much. 

Clo.  Not  much  commendation  to  them. 

Count.  Not  much  employment  for  you :  you 
understand  me? 

Clo.   Most  fruitfully  :  I  am  there  before  my  legs. 

Count.   Haste  you  again.  [Exeunt  severally. 


Scene  IH.     Fan's.      The  King's /a/a,r^. 

Ettter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  and  Parolles. 

Laf.  They  say  miracles  are  past ;  and  we  have 
our  philosophical  persons,  to  make  modern  and 
familiar,  things  supernatural  and  causeless.     Hence 

62,  63.  Printed  as  prose  in  Ff ;  as  verse  first  by  Knight. 
2.   modern,  commonplace. 


70 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  h 

is  it  that  we  make  trifles  of  terrors,  ensconcing 
ourselves  into  seeming  knowledge,  when  we  should 
submit  ourselves  to  an  unknown  fear. 

Par.  Why,  'tis  the  rarest  argument  of  wonder 
that  hath  shot  out  in  our  latter  times. 

Ber.   And  so  'tis. 

Laf.   To  be  reUnquished  of  the  artists, —  lo 

Par.   So  I  say ;  both  of  Galen  and  Paracelsus. 

Laf.   Of  all  the  learned  and  authentic  fellows, — 

Par.   Right ;  so  I  say. 

Laf.   That  gave  him  out  incurable, — 

Par.   Why,  there  'tis ;  so  say  I  too. 

Laf.   Not  to  be  helped, — 

Par.   Right ;  as  'twere,  a  man  assured  of  a — 

Laf.  Uncertain  life,  and  sure  death.  so 

Par.  Just,  you  say  well ;  so  would  I  have  said. 

Laf  I  may  truly  say,  it  is  a  novelty  to  the 
world. 

Par.  It  is,  indeed :  if  you  will  have  it  in 
showing,  you  shall  read  it  in — what  do  ye  call 
there  ? 

Laf.  A  showing  of  a  heavenly  effect  in  an 
earthly  actor. 

Par.  That 's  it ;  I  would  have  said  the  very 
same.  30 

Laf.  Why,  your  dolphin  is  not  lustier  :  'fore  me, 
I  speak  in  respect — 

Par.  Nay,  'tis  strange,  'tis  very  strange,  that 
is  the  brief  and  the  tedious  of  it ;  and  he 's  of  a 

10.  artists,  physicians.  hisanxiety  to  display  knowledge, 

11.  both  of  Galen  and  Para-  catches  irrelevantly  at  the  first 
cels-us.  Johnson,  conceiving  that  names  of  great  medical '  artists ' 
Parolles  is  throughout  this  scene  that  occur  to  him. 
pretending  to  knowledge  which  27.  A  showing  of  a  Iieavenly 
he  has  not,  transfers  these  words  effect.  This  doubtless  ridicules 
to  Lafeu.  But  the  passage  is  the  title  of  some  lost  pamph- 
quite  in  keeping.     Parolles,  in  let. 


sc.  m    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

most  facinerious  spirit  that  will  not  acknowledge 
it  to  be  the — 

Laf.  Very  hand  of  heaven. 

Par.   Ay,  so  I  say. 

Laf.   In  a  most  weak — 

Par.    And   debile   minister,  great   power,  great  40 
transcendence ;  which   should,  indeed,    give   us  a 
further  use  to  be  made  than  alone  the  recovery  of 
the  king,  as  to  be — 

Laf.   Generally  thankful. 

Par.  I  would  have  said  it ;  you  say  well.  Here 
comes  the  king. 

Enter  King,  Helena,  and  Attendants. 
Lafeu  and  Parolles  retire. 

Laf.  Lustick,  as  the  Dutchman  says  :  I  '11  like 
a  maid  the  better,  whilst  I  have  a  tooth  in  my 
head  :  why,  he  's  able  to  lead  her  a  coranto. 

Par.  Mort  du  vinaigre  !  is  not  this  Helen  ?  50 

Laf.     'Fore  God,  I  think  so. 

King.   Go,  call  before  me  all  the  lords  in  court. 
Sit,  my  preserver,  by  thy  patient's  side  ; 
And  with  this  healthful  hand,  whose  banish'd  sense 
Thou  hast  repeal'd,  a  second  time  receive 
The  confirmation  of  my  promised  gift, 
Which  but  attends  thy  naming. 

Enter  three  or  four  Lords. 

Fair  maid,  send  forth  thine  eye  :  this  youthful  parcel 
Of  noble  bachelors  stand  at  my  bestowing, 

35.  facinerious,  wicked,    im-      come  into  use  as  a  summons  to 
pious  ;   Parolles'  coinage.  be  merry. 

T  ,    '  ■  49-   coranto,    a   gay,    spirited 

40.    Johnson    agam    assigns      ^^^^^ 

most    of    Parolles'     speech    to  «^    ..  j 

If  ^  so.  Afori  du  vinatgre;  a.  mean' 

mgless  oath. 

47.   Lustick;   the   word   had  55.   repeaVd,  recalled. 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  n 

O'er  whom    both    sovereign    power   and    father's 

voice  6° 

I  have  to  use  :  thy  frank  election  make ; 
Thou  hast  power  to  choose,  and  they  none  to  for- 
sake. 
Hel.  To    each   of  you    one   fair   and    virtuous 
mistress 
Fall,  when  Love  please  !   marry,  to  each,  but  one ! 

Laf.   I  'Id  give  bay  Curtal  and  his  furniture, 
My  mouth  no  more  were  broken  than  these  boys', 
And  writ  as  little  beard. 

King.  Peruse  them  well : 

Not  one  of  those  but  had  a  noble  father. 

Hel.   Gentlemen, 
Heaven    hath   through   me   restored   the   king   to 
health.  70 

All.    We  understand  it,  and  thank  heaven  for 

you. 
Hel.   I  am  a  simple  maid,  and  therein  wealthiest, 
That  I  protest  I  simply  am  a  maid. 
Please  it  your  majesty,  I  have  done  already  : 
The  blushes  in  my  cheeks  thus  whisper  me, 
'  We   blush   that  thou   shouldst   choose ;   but,    be 

refused, 
Let  the  white  death  sit  on  thy  cheek  for  ever ; 
We  '11  ne'er  come  there  again.' 

King.  Make  choice  ;  and,  see, 

Who  shuns  thy  love  shuns  all  his  love  in  me. 

Hel.   Now,  Dian,  from  thy  altar  do  I  fly,  80 

And  to  imperial  Love,  that  god  most  high. 
Do  my  sighs  stream.     Sir,  will  you  hear  my  suit  ? 
First  Lord.   And  grant  it. 
Hel.  Thanks,  sir,  all  the  rest  is  mute. 

66.  broken,  \. a.  by  the  loss  of  83.   all  the   rest   is   mute,   I 
teeth.                                                    have  nothing  further  to  say. 

67.  writ,  laid  claim  to. 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Laf.  I  had  rather  be  in  this  choice  than  throw 
ames-ace  for  my  life. 

Hel.    The  honour,  sir,  that  flames  in  your  fair 
eyes. 
Before  I  speak,  too  threateningly  replies : 
Love  make  your  fortunes  twenty  times  above 
Her  that  so  wishes  and  her  humble  love ! 

Sec.  Lord.   No  better,  if  you  please. 

Hel.  My  wish  receive,  90 

Which  great  Love  grant !  and  so,  I  take  my  leave. 

Laf.  Do  all  they  deny  her  ?  An  they  were  sons 
of  mine,  I  'd  have  them  whipped  ;  or  I  would  send 
them  to  the  Turk,  to  make  eunuchs  of 

Llel.   Be  not  afraid  that  I  your  hand  should  take  ; 
I  '11  never  do  you  wrong  for  your  own  sake : 
Blessing  upon  your  vows  !  and  in  your  bed 
Find  fairer  fortune,  if  you  ever  wed  ! 

Laf.   These  boys  are  boys  of  ice,  they  '11  none 
have  her  :  sure,  they  are  bastards  to  the  English ;  100 
the  French  ne'er  got  'em. 

LLel.  You  are  too  young,  too  happy,  and   too 
good. 
To  make  yourself  a  son  out  of  my  blood. 

Fourth  Lord.   Fair  one,  I  think  not  so. 

Laf.  There 's  one  grape  yet ;  I  am  sure  thy 
father  drunk  wine :  but  if  thou  be'st  not  an  ass, 
I  am  a  youth  of  fourteen ;  I  have  known  thee 
already. 

Llel.   [  To  Bertram^  I  dare  not  say  I  take  you ; 
but  I  give 

85.   ames-ace,  \hQ  \.v;o  B.c(iS  rX  son  quotes  a  modern  equivalent : 

dice,  ?.^.  the  lowest  throw.  Lafeu  'One   praising    a  sweet-songed 

of  course   means   the   opposite,  prima  donna  says  :    "  I'd  rather 

and  is  therefore  to  be  understood  hear    her   sing   than  walk    100 

as  making,  in  his  capacity  of  an  miles  with  peas  in  my  boots."  ' 
old  humorist,   an  ironical  com-  109.  I  dare  not  say  I  take  you. 

parison.       Dr.   Brinsley  Nichol-  This  famous   speech  resembles 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  „ 

Me  and  my  service,  ever  whilst  I  live,  no 

Into  your  guiding  power.      This  is  the  man. 

King.  Why,  then,  young  Bertram,  take  her  ;  she  's 
thy  wife. 

Ber.   My  wife,  my  liege !   I  shall  beseech  your 
highness, 
In  such  a  business  give  me  leave  to  use 
The  help  of  mine  own  eyes. 

King.  Know'st  thou  not,  Bertram, 

What  she  has  done  for  me  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  my  good  lord  ; 

But  never  hope  to  know  why  I  should  marry  her. 

King.  Thou  know'st  she  has  raised  me  from  my 
sickly  bed. 

Ber.    But    follows    it,    my   lord,    to    bring    me 
down 
Must  answer  for  your  raising  ?     I  know  her  well :    120 
She  had  her  breeding  at  my  father's  charge. 
A  poor  physician's  daughter  my  wife  !     Disdain 
Rather  corrupt  me  ever  ! 

King.   'Tis  only  title  thou  disdain'st  in  her,  the 
which 
I  can  build  up.      Strange  is  it  that  our  bloods. 
Of  colour,  weight,  and  heat,  pour'd  all  together, 
Would  quite  confound  distinction,  yet  stand  off 
In  differences  so  mighty.      If  she  be 
All  that  is  virtuous,  save  what  thou  dislikest, 
A  poor  physician's  daughter,  thou  dislikest  130 

Of  virtue  for  the  name  :  but  do  not  so  : 
From  lowest  place  when  virtuous  things  proceed, 
The  place  is  dignified  by  the  doer's  deed : 

the  words  of  Greene's  shepherd  yield,  not  overcome  with  prayers 

maid  Fawnia  [Perdita]  to  Prince  but  with  love,  resting  Dorastus' 

Dorastus    [Florizel]    in    his    ro-  handmaid    ready    to    obey   his 

mance  oi  Pandosto  :  '  I  dare  not  will  .  .  .'   [Shaksp.    Library,  iv. 

say,   Dorastus,  I  love  thee,  be-  64). 

cause  I  am  a  shepherd.  ...  I  126.   Q/",  in  respect  of. 


sc.  Ill   All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Where  great  additions  swell 's,  and  virtue  none, 

It  is  a  dropsied  honour.     Good  alone 

Is  good  without  a  name.     Vileness  is  so : 

The  property  by  what  it  is  should  go, 

Not  by  the  title.     She  is  young,  wise,  fair ; 

In  these  to  nature  she  's  immediate  heir, 

And  these  breed  honour  :  that  is  honour's  scorn,     140 

A\TTiich  challenges  itself  as  honour's  born 

And  is  not  like  the  sire  :  honours  thrive, 

When  rather  from  our  acts  we  them  derive 

Than  our  foregoers  :  the  mere  word  's  a  slave 

Debosh'd  on  every  tomb,  on  every  grave 

A  lying  trophy,  and  as  oft  is  dumb 

Where  dust  and  damn'd  oblivion  is  the  tomb 

Of  honour'd  bones  indeed.     What  should  be  said  ? 

If  thou  canst  like  this  creature  as  a  maid, 

I  can  create  the  rest :  virtue  and  she  150 

Is  her  own  dower ;  honour  and  wealth  from  me. 

Ber.   I  cannot  love  her,  nor  will  strive  to  do 't. 

King.  Thou  wrong'st  thyself,   if  thou  shouldst 
strive  to  choose. 

Hel.  That  you  are  well  restored,  my  lord,  I  'm 
glad : 
Let  the  rest  go. 

King.  My  honour 's  at  the  stake;  which  to  defeat, 
I  must  produce  my  power.      Here,  take  her  hand, 
Proud  scornful  boy,  unworthy  this  good  gift ; 
That  dost  in  vile  misprision  shackle  up 
My  love  and  her  desert ;  that  canst  not  dream,        160 
We,  poising  us  in  her  defective  scale. 
Shall  weigh  thee  to  the  beam  ;  that  wilt  not  know. 
It  is  in  us  to  plant  thine  honour  where 

134.  actditiotts,  titles.  based. 

135.  alone,  by  itself.  156.   which  to  defeat,  to  avert 
141.  challenges  itself  as,  urges      that  risk  of  dishonour. 

its  claim  to  be.  157.  produce,  put  forth. 

145.  Debosh'd,  perverted,  de-  159.  misprision,  disdain. 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  n 

We  please  to  have  it  grow.     Check  thy  contempt : 

Obey  our  will,  which  travails  in  thy  good  : 

Believe  not  thy  disdain,  but  presently 

Do  thine  own  fortunes  that  obedient  right 

Which  both  thy  duty  owes  and  our  power  claims : 

Or  I  will  throw  thee  from  my  care  for  ever 

Into  the  staggers  and  the  careless  lapse  170 

Of  youth  and  ignorance  ;  both  my  revenge  and  hate 

Loosing  upon  thee,  in  the  name  of  justice, 

Without  all  terms  of  pity.     Speak  ;  thine  answer. 

Ber.   Pardon,  my  gracious  lord ;  for  I  submit 
My  fancy  to  your  eyes  :  when  I  consider 
What  great  creation  and  what  dole  of  honour 
Flies  where  you  bid  it,  I  find  that  she,  which  late 
Was  in  my  nobler  thoughts  most  base,  is  now 
The  praised  of  the  king ;  who,  so  ennobled, 
Is  as  'twere  born  so. 

King.  Take  her  by  the  hand,  180 

And  tell  her  she  is  thine  :  to  whom  I  promise 
A  counterpoise,  if  not  to  thy  estate 
A  balance  more  replete. 

Ber.  I  take  her  hand. 

King.  Good  fortune  and  the  favour  of  the  king 
Smile  upon  this  contract ;  whose  ceremony 
Shall  seem  expedient  on  the  now-born  brief. 
And  be  perform'd  to-night :  the  solemn  feast 
Shall  more  attend  upon  the  coming  space. 
Expecting  absent  friends.     As  thou  lovest  her, 
Thy  love  's  to  me  religious  ;  else,  does  err.  190 

\Exeunt  all  but  Lafeu  and  Parol les. 

Laf.    \Advaticing\    Do   you   hear,   monsieur?   a 
word  with  you. 

181-3.    Helena  will  be  made  a  following  upon  the  present  be- 

match  in  dignity  for  Bertram  as  trothal.   '  Brief, '  properly  '  WTitten 

he  is,  and  possibly  new  dignities  articles,'  is  here  figurative, 
added  to  both. 

186.    on  the  norw-bom   brief,  188.    '  Shall  be  deferred. ' 

i:;8 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Par.  Your  pleasure,  sir? 

Laf.  Your  lord  and  master  did  well  to  make 
his  recantation. 

Par.   Recantation  !     My  lord  !  my  master  ! 

Laf.   Ay ;  is  it  not  a  language  I  speak  ? 

Par.  A  most  harsh  one,  and  not  to  be  under- 
stood without  bloody  succeeding.     My  master  ! 

Laf.  Are  you  companion  to  the  Count  Rou- 
sillon  ? 

Par.  To  any  count,  to  all  counts,  to  what  is 
man. 

Laf.  To  what  is  count's  man  :  count's  master 
is  of  another  style. 

Par.  You  are  too  old,  sir;  let  it  satisfy  you, 
you  are  too  old. 

Laf.  I  must  tell  thee,  sirrah,  I  write  man;  to 
which  title  age  cannot  bring  thee. 

Par.  What  I  dare  too  well  do,  I  dare  not  do. 

Laf.  I  did  think  thee,  for  two  ordinaries,  to 
be  a  pretty  wise  fellow;  thou  didst  make  toler- 
able vent  of  thy  travel ;  it  might  pass  :  yet  the 
scarfs  and  the  bannerets  about  thee  did  mani- 
foldly dissuade  me  from  believing  thee  a  vessel  of 
too  great  a  burthen.  I  have  now  found  thee; 
when  I  lose  thee  again,  I  care  not :  yet  art  thou 
good  for  nothing  but  taking  up ;  and  that  thou  'rt 
scarce  worth. 

Par.   Hadst  thou  not  the  privilege  of  antiquity  ; 
upon  thee, — 

Laf.  Do  not  plunge  thyself  too  far  in  anger, 
lest  thou  hasten  thy  trial ;  which  if — Lord  have 
mercy  on  thee  for  a  hen  !  So,  my  good  window 
of  lattice, .  fare  thee  well :  thy  casement  I  need 
not  open,  for  I  look  through  thee.  Give  me  thy 
hand. 

208.   write,  claim  the  title  of.  216.  found,  found  out. 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  n 

Par.    My   lord,   you    give   me  most   egregious 
indignity. 

Laf.     Ay,   with    all    my    heart ;    and    thou    art  230 
worthy  of  it. 

Par.   I  have  not,  my  lord,  deserved  it. 

Laf.  Yes,  good  faith,  every  dram  of  it ;  and  I 
will  not  bate  thee  a  scruple. 

Par.  Well,  I  shall  be  wiser. 

Laf.  Even  as  soon  as  thou  canst,  for  thou  hast 
to  pull  at  a  smack  o'  the  contrary.  If  ever  thou 
be'st  bound  in  thy  scarf  and  beaten,  thou  shalt 
find  what  it  is  to  be  proud  of  thy  bondage.  I 
have  a  desire  to  hold  my  acquaintance  with  thee,  240 
or  rather  my  knowledge,  that  I  may  say  in  the 
default,  he  is  a  man  I  know. 

Par.  My  lord,  you  do  me  most  insupportable 
vexation. 

Laf.  I  would  it  were  hell-pains  for  thy  sake, 
and  my  poor  doing  eternal :  for  doing  I  am  past ; 
as  I  will  by  thee,  in  what  motion  age  will  give  me 
leave.  \Exif. 

Par.  Well,  thou  hast  a  son  shall  take  this  dis- 
grace off  me ;  scurvy,  old,  filthy,  scurvy  lord  !  250 
Well,  I  must  be  patient  \  there  is  no  fettering  of 
authority.  I'll  beat  him,  by  my  life,  if  I  can 
meet  him  with  any  convenience,  an  he  were 
double  and  double  a  lord.  I  '11  have  no  more  pity 
of  his  age  than  I  would  have  of — I  '11  beat  him, 
an  if  I  could  but  meet  him  again. 

Re-enter  Lafeu. 

Laf.    Sirrah,  your  lord  and   master's  married; 
there 's  news  for  you  :  you  have  a  new  mistress. 
Par.   I  most  unfeigncdly  beseech  your  lordship 

241.   in  the  default,  at  need.        I  will   pass  by  thee  (from  past 
247.   as  I  will  by  thee,  i.e.  as      preceding). 

160 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

to  make  some  reservation  of  your  wrongs  ;  he  is  260 
my  good  lord  :  whom  I  serve  above  is  my  master. 

Laf.  Who?     God? 

Par.  Ay,  sir. 

Laf.  The  devil  it  is  that 's  thy  master.  "Why 
dost  thou  garter  up  thy  arms  o'  this  fashion  ?  dost 
make  hose  of  thy  sleeves  ?  do  other  servants  so  ? 
Thou  wert  best  set  thy  lower  part  where  thy  nose 
stands.  By  mine  honour,  if  I  were  but  two  hours 
younger,  I  'Id  beat  thee :  methinks  't,  thou  art  a 
general  offence,  and  every  man  should  beat  thee  :  270 
I  think  thou  wast  created  for  men  to  breathe 
themselves  upon  thee. 

Par.    This    is   hard  and  undeserved   measure, 
my  lord. 

Laf.  Go  to,  sir ;  you  were  beaten  in  Italy  for 
picking  a  kernel  out  of  a  pomegranate  ;  you  are 
a  vagabond  and  no  true  traveller  :  you  are  more 
saucy  with  lords  and  honourable  personages  than 
the  commission  of  your  birth  and  virtue  gives  you 
heraldry.  You  are  not  worth  another  word,  else  280 
I  'Id  call  you  knave.     I  leave  you.  \Exit. 

Par.   Good,  very  good ;  it  is   so  then  :   good, 
very  good ;  let  it  be  concealed  awhile. 

Re-enter  Bertram. 

Ber.   Undone,  and  forfeited  to  cares  for  ever ! 

Par.  What 's  the  matter,  sweet-heart  ? 

Ber.  Although  before  the  solemn  priest  I  have 
sworn, 
I  will  not  bed  her. 

Par.  What,  what,  sweet-heart? 

Ber.  O  my  ParoUes,  they  have  married  me  ! 
I  '11  to  the  Tuscan  wars,  and  never  bed  her.  290 


260.   wrongs,  insults. 

280.  heraldry,  authentic  title. 

VOL.  Ill 

i5r                             M 

All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  n 

Par.   France  is  a  dog-hole,  and  it  no  more  merits 
The  tread  of  a  man's  foot :  to  the  wars  ! 

Ber.  There  's  letters  from  my  mother  :  what  the 
import  is,  I  know  not  yet. 

Par.  Ay,  that  would  be  known.     To  the  wars, 
my  boy,  to  the  wars  ! 
He  wears  his  honour  in  a  box  unseen. 
That  hugs  his  kicky-wicky  here  at  home, 
Spending  his  manly  marrow  in  her  arms. 
Which  should  sustain  the  bound  and  high  curvet 
Of  Mars's  fiery  steed.     To  other  regions  300 

France  is  a  stable  ;  we  that  dwell  in  't  jades  ; 
Therefore,  to  the  war  ! 

Ber.   It  shall  be  so  :  I  '11  send  her  to  my  house, 
Acquaint  my  mother  with  my  hate  to  her, 
And  wherefore  I  am  fled  ;  write  to  the  king 
That  which  I  durst  not  speak  :  his  present  gift 
Shall  furnish  me  to  those  Italian  fields, 
Where  noble  fellows  strike  :  war  is  no  strife 
To  the  dark  house  and  the  detested  wife. 

Par.   Will  this  capriccio  hold  in  thee?  art  sure?  310 

Ber.   Go  with  me  to  my  chamber,  and  advise  me. 
I  '11  send  her  straight  away  :  to-morrow 
I  '11  to  the  wars,  she  to  her  single  sorrow. 

Par.   Why,  these  balls  bound  ;  there  's  noise  in 
it.     'Tis  hard  : 
A  young  man  married  is  a  man  that 's  marr'd  : 
Therefore  away,  and  leave  her  bravely  ;  go  : 
The  king  has  done  you  wrong :  but,  hush,  'tis  so. 

\Exeunt. 

297.    kicky-wicky,    mistress.  309.   detested,  Rowe's  correc- 

So    Fj.       Fo_i    give    the    form      tion  of  Ff  detected, 
kicksy-wicksy. 


162 


sc.  IV    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Scene  IV.     Paris.     The  Kiijg's  pa/ace. 

Enter  Helena  aiid  Clown. 

Hel.   My  mother  greets  me  kindly  :  is  she  well  ? 

Clo.  She  is  not  well ;  but  yet  she  has  her  health  : 
she's  very  merry  ;  but  yet  she  is  not  well :  but  thanks 
be  given,  she  's  very  well  and  wants  nothing  i'  the 
world  ;  but  yet  she  is  not  well. 

Hel.  If  she  be  very  well,  what  does  she  ail, 
that  she  's  not  very  well  ? 

Clo.  Truly,  she 's  very  well  indeed,  but  for 
two  things. 

Hel.   What  two  things  ? 

Clo.  One,  that  she 's  not  in  heaven,  whither 
God  send  her  quickly  !  the  other,  that  she 's  in 
earth,  from  whence  God  send  her  quickly  ! 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.  Bless  you,  my  fortunate  lady  ! 

Hel.  I  hope,  sir,  I  have  your  good  will  to  have 
mine  own  good  fortunes. 

Par.  You  had  my  prayers  to  lead  them  on ; 
and  to  keep  them  on,  have  them  still.  O,  my 
knave,  how  does  my  old  lady  ? 

Clo.  So  that  you  had  her  wrinkles  and  I  her 
money,  I  would  she  did  as  you  say. 

Par.  Why,  I  say  nothing. 

Clo.  Marry,  you  are  the  wiser  man  ;  for  many 
a  man's  tongue  shakes  out  his  master's  undoing : 
to  say  nothing,  to  do  nothing,  to  know  nothing, 
and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  be  a  great  part  of  your 
title  ;  which  is  within  a  very  little  of  nothing. 

Par.  h.-^2i^  !  thou  'rt  a  knave. 

163 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  n 

Clo.  You  should  have  said,  sir,  before  a  knave 
thou  'rt  a  knave  ;  that 's,  before  me  thou  'rt  a  knave  :   30 
this  had  been  truth,  sir. 

Par.  Go  to,  thou  art  a  witty  fool ;  I  have  found 
thee. 

Clo.  Did  you  find  me  in  yourself,  sir?  or 
were  you  taught  to  find  me  ?  The  search,  sir, 
was  profitable  ;  and  much  fool  may  you  find  in 
you,  even  to  the  world's  pleasure  and  the  increase 
of  laughter. 

Par.  A  good  knave,  i'  faith,  and  well  fed. 
Madam,  my  lord  will  go  away  to-night ;  40 

A  very  serious  business  calls  on  him. 
The  great  prerogative  and  rite  of  love, 
Which,  as  your  due,  time  claims,  he  does  acknow- 
ledge \ 
But  puts  it  off  to  a  compell'd  restraint ; 
Whose   want,   and  whose    delay,    is   strew'd  with 

sweets. 
Which  they  distil  now  in  the  curbed  time. 
To  make  the  coming  hour  o'erflow  with  joy 
And  pleasure  drown  the  brim. 

Hel.  What 's  his  will  else  ? 

Par.   That  you  will  take   your  instant  leave  o' 
the  king, 
And   make    this    haste   as   your   own    good   pro- 
ceeding, 50 
Strengthen'd  with  what  apology  you  think 
May  make  it  probable  need. 

Hel.  What  more  commands  he  ? 

Par.  That,  having  this  obtain'd,  you  presently 
Attend  his  further  pleasure. 

Hel.   In  every  thing  I  wait  upon  his  will. 

44.   to  a  compelVd  restraint,  52.     make   it  probable   need, 

to  (the  termination  of  a  time  of)      give  it  a  plausible  air  of  neces- 
involuntary  abstinence,  sity. 

164 


sc.  V     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Par.  I  shall  report  it  so. 

Hel.  I  pray  you.      \Exit  Farol/es.'] 

Come,  sirrah.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  V.     Fans.      The  King's  palace. 

Enter  Lafeu  and  Bertram. 

Laf.   But  I  hope  your  lordship  thinks  not  him 
a  soldier. 

Ber.  Yes,  my  lord,  and  of  very  valiant  approof. 

Laf.  You  have  it  from  his  own  deliverance. 

Ber.   And  by  other  warranted  testimon}'. 

Laf.  Then  my  dial  goes  not  true  :  I  took  this 
lark  for  a  buntins;. 

Ber.    I   do    assure    you,   my   lord,   he    is   very 
great  in  knowledge  and  accordingly  valiant. 

Laf  I  have  then  sinned  against  his  ex-  lo 
perience  and  transgressed  against  his  valour ; 
and  my  state  that  way  is  dangerous,  since  I 
cannot  yet  find  in  my  heart  to  repent.  Here  he 
comes :  I  pray  you,  make  us  friends  \  I  will 
pursue  the  amity. 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.   [To  Bertram]  These  things  shall  be  done, 
sir. 

Laf.   Pray  you,  sir,  who  's  his  tailor  ? 

Par.   Sir  ? 

Laf.   O,   I  know  him  well,   I,   fir ;  he,   sir,   's  a    20 
good  workman,  a  very  good  tailor. 

Ber.   [Aside  to  Par.]  Is  she  gone  to  the  king  ? 

Par.   She  is. 

Ber.   Will  she  away  to-night  ? 

Par.  As  you  '11  have  her. 

9.   accordingly,  correspondingly. 
165 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  n 

Ber.    I    have    writ    my    letters,    casketed    my 
treasure, 
Given  order  for  our  horses  ;  and  to-night, 
When  I  should  take  possession  of  the  bride, 
End  ere  I  do  begin. 

Laf.   A  good  traveller  is  something  at  tlie  latter    30 
end  of  a  dinner  ;  but  one  that  lies  three  thirds  and 
uses  a  known  truth  to  pass  a  thousand  nothings 
with,   should   be   once   heard   and   thrice    beaten. 
God  save  you,  captain. 

Ber.   Is  there  any  unkindness  between  my  lord 
and  you,  monsieur  ? 

Par.   I  know  not  how  I  have  deserved  to  run 
into  my  lord's  displeasure. 

Laf.   You  have  made  shift  to  run  into  't,  boots 
and  spurs  and  all,  like  him  that  leaped  into  the   40 
custard ;    and  out  of  it  you  '11   run   again,    rather 
than  suffer  question  for  your  residence. 

Ber.   It  may  be  you  have  mistaken  him,  my  lord. 

Laf.  And  shall  do  so  ever,  though  I  took  him 
at  's  prayers.  Fare  you  well,  my  lord  \  and  be- 
lieve this  of  me,  there  can  be  no  kernel  in  this 
light  nut;  the  soul  of  this  man  is  his  clothes. 
Trust  him  not  in  matter  of  heavy  consequence  ;  I 
have  kept  of  them  tame,  and  know  their  natures.  50 
Farewell,  monsieur  :  I  have  spoken  better  of  you 
than  you  have  or  will  to  deserve  at  my  hand  ;  but 
we  must  do  good  against  evil.  \Exit. 

Par.   An  idle  lord,  I  swear. 

Ber.   I  think  so. 

Par.  Why,  do  you  not  know  him  ? 

29.   End.      Ff  have  and.  So  Fj.      The  later   Ff  omit   to, 

_,     T      JUT         .    T-     ,  understanding    '  have    deserved 

40.   The  Lord  iSlavor  s  Fool,      n      j  ■        a 

,^  ,          .         ,         •       ,  ,  or     will     deserve.         A     more 

who  leapt  mto  the  custard  bowl  ^„:„,„j    ,„„^„    v    ~          •<■ 

.  .    "^  pomted    sense    is    g^ven    if    we 

at  CIVIC  feasts.  suppose    the   words   or  wit   to 

52.   have  or  will  to  deser-ce.       have  been  lost  before  or  will. 

166 


sc.  V     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Ber.   Yes,   I  do  know  him  well,  and  common 
speech, 
Gives  him  a  worthy  pass.     Here  comes  my  clog. 

Enter  Helena. 

Hel  I  have,  sir,  as  I  was  commanded  from  you, 
Spoke  with  the  king  and  have  procured  his  leave    60 
For  present  parting ;  only  he  desires 
Some  private  speech  with  you. 

Ber.  I  shall  obey  his  will. 

You  must  not  marvel,  Helen,  at  my  course, 
Which  holds  not  colour  with  the  time,  nor  does 
The  ministration  and  required  office 
On  my  particular.      Prepared  I  was  not 
For  such  a  business ;  therefore  am  I  found 
So  much  unsettled  :  this  drives  me  to  entreat  you 
That  presently  you  take  your  way  for  home ; 
And  rather  muse  than  ask  why  I  entreat  you,  70 

For  my  respects  are  better  than  they  seem. 
And  my  appointments  have  in  them  a  need 
Greater  than  shows  itself  at  the  first  view 
To  you  that  know  them  not.     This  to  my  mother : 

\Giving  a  letter. 
'Twill  be  two  days  ere  I  shall  see  you,  so 
I  leave  you  to  your  wisdom. 

Hel.  Sir,  I  can  nothing  say, 

But  that  I  am  your  most  obedient  servant. 

Ber.   Come,  come,  no  more  of  that. 

Hel.  And  ever  shall 

With  true  observance  seek  to  eke  out  that 
Wherein  toward  me  my  homely  stars  have  fail'd        80 
To  equal  rny  great  fortune. 

64.     holds    not    colour  with,      .  .  .  particular,  nor  does  the  task 
does  not  accord  with.  imposed  upon  me   accord  with 

mv   private    concerns.        On    is 
64.    nor  does  the  ministration      suggested  by  required. 

167 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  m 

Ber.  Let  that  go  : 

My  haste  is  very  great :  farewell ;  hie  home. 

Hel.   Pray,  sir,  your  pardon. 

Ber.  Well,  what  would  you  say? 

Hel.   I  am  not  worthy  of  the  wealth  I  owe, 
Nor  dare  I  say  'tis  mine,  and  yet  it  is ; 
But,  like  a  timorous  thief,  most  fain  would  steal 
What  law  does  vouch  mine  own. 

Ber.  AVhat  would  you  have? 

Hel.  Something  ;  and  scarce  so  much  :  nothing, 
indeed. 
I  would  not  tell  you  what  I  would,  my  lord : 
Faith,  yes  ;  go 

Strangers  and  foes  do  sunder,  and  not  kiss. 

Ber.   I  pray  you,  stay  not,  but  in  haste  to  horse. 

Hel.  I  shall  not  break  your  bidding,  good  my  lord. 

Ber.  Where  are  my  other  men,  monsieur  ?  Fare- 
well. \^Exit  Helena. 
Go  thou  toward  home ;  where  I  will  never  come 
Whilst  I  can  shake  my  sword  or  hear  the  drum. 
Away,  and  for  our  flight. 

Par.  Bravely,  coragio  ! 

[Exeunt, 


ACT    III. 

Scene  I.     Florence.      The  Dvvi'E.^s  palace. 

Flourish.     Enter  the  Duke  of  Florence,  attended; 
the  two  Frenchmen^  with  a  troop  of  soldiers. 

Duke.    So  that  from  point  to  point  now  have 
you  heard 
The  fundamental  reasons  of  this  war, 

84.   mvc,  own. 
168 


sc.  I     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Whose  great  decision  hath  much  blood  let  forth 
And  more  thirsts  after. 

First  Lord.  Holy  seems  the  quarrel 

Upon  your  grace's  part ;  black  and  fearful 
On  the  opposer. 

Duke.    Therefore  we  marvel  much  our  cousin 
France 
Would  in  so  just  a  business  shut  his  bosom 
Against  our  borrowing  prayers. 

Sec.  Lord.  Good  my  lord, 

The  reasons  of  our  state  I  cannot  yield,  lo 

But  like  a  common  and  an  outward  man, 
That  the  great  figure  of  a  council  frames 
By  self-unable  motion  :  therefore  dare  not 
Say  what  I  think  of  it,  since  I  have  found 
Myself  in  my  incertain  grounds  to  fail 
As  often  as  I  guess'd. 

Duke.  Be  it  his  pleasure. 

First  Lord.   But  I  am  sure  the  younger  of  our 
nature, 
That  surfeit  on  their  ease,  will  day  by  day 
Come  here  for  physic. 

Duke.  Welcome  shall  they  be ; 

And  all  the  honours  that  can  fly  from  us  20 

Shall   on    them    settle.       You    know  your   places 

well ; 
When  better  fall,  for  your  avails  they  fell : 
To-morrow  to  the  field.  [^Flourish.     Fxeunf. 

11.  o«/7tii2/-i/,  having  no  access  motion,  that  forms  an  idea  of 
»o  the  counsels  of  government,  state  council  with  his  rude  un- 
an  '  outsider.'  aided  intelligence. 

12,  13.    That  the  great  figure 

0/ a  council  frat/ies  by  self-unable         22.  avails,  advantage. 


169 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  m 

Scene  II.     Rousillon.      The  Count's  palace. 

Enter  Countess  and  Clown. 

Count.  It  hath  happened  all  as  I  would  have 
had  it,  save  that  he  comes  not  along  with  her. 

Clo.  By  my  troth,  I  take  my  young  lord  to  be  a 
very  melancholy  man. 

Cou?it.   By  what  observance,  I  pray  you  ? 

Clo.  Why,  he  will  look  upon  his  boot  and  sing ; 
mend  the  ruff  and  sing  ;  ask  questions  and  sing ; 
pick  his  teeth  and  sing.  I  know  a  man  that  had 
this  trick  of  melancholy  sold  a  goodly  manor  for 
a  song.  lo 

Count.  Let  me  see  what  he  writes,  and  when 
he  means  to  come.  \Opening  a  letter. 

Clo.  I  have  no  mind  to  Isbel  since  I  was  at 
court :  our  old  ling  and  our  Isbels  o'  the  country 
are  nothing  like  your  old  ling  and  your  Isbels  o' 
the  court :  the  brains  of  my  Cupid  's  knocked  out, 
and  I  begin  to  love,  as  an  old  man  loves  money, 
with  no  stomach. 

Count.   What  have  we  here  ? 

Clo.   E'en  that  you  have  there.  \Exit.      20 

Count.  \Reads\  I  have  sent  you  a  daughter-in- 
law  :  she  hath  recovered  the  king,  and  undone 
me.  I  have  wedded  her,  not  bedded  her ;  and 
sworn  to  make  the  '  not '  eternal.  You  shall  hear 
I  am  run  away  :  know  it  before  the  report  come. 
If  there  be  breadth  enough  in  the  world,  I  will 
hold  a  long  distance.     My  duty  to  you. 

Your  unfortunate  son, 

Bertram. 
This  is  not  well,  rash  and  unbridled  boy,  30 

14.   ling,  i.e.  Lenten  food. 
170 


sc.  II     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

To  fly  the  favours  of  so  good  a  king ; 
To  pluck  his  indignation  on  thy  head 
By  the  misprising  of  a  maid  too  virtuous 
"or  the  contempt  of  empire. 

Re-enter  Clown, 

Clo.  O  madam,  yonder  is  heavy  news  within 
between  two  soldiers  and  my  young  lady  ! 

Coimt.  What  is  the  matter? 

Clo.  Nay,  there  is  some  comfort  in  the  news, 
some  comfort ;  your  son  will  not  be  killed  so  soon 
as  I  thought  he  would.  40 

Count.  Why  should  he  be  killed  ? 

Clo.  So  say  I,  madam,  if  he  run  away,  as  I  hear 
he  does  :  the  danger  is  in  standing  to 't ;  that 's 
the  loss  of  men,  though  it  be  the  getting  of 
children.  Here  they  come  will  tell  you  more : 
for  my  part,  I  only  hear  your  son  was  run  away. 

\Exit. 

Enter  Helena  and  two  Gentlemen. 

First  Gent.   Save  you,  good  madam. 

Hel.   Madam,  my  lord  is  gone,  for  ever  gone. 

Sec.  Gent.   Do  not  say  so. 

Count.  Think  upon  patience.     Pray  you,  gentle- 
men, so 
I  have  felt  so  many  quirks  of  joy  and  grief, 
That  the  first  face  of  neither,  on  the  start. 
Can  woman  me  unto't:  where  is  my  son,  I  pray  you? 

Sec.  Gent.   Madam,  he  's  gone  to  serve  the  duke 
of  Florence  : 
We  met  him,  thitherward  ;  for  thence  we  came, 
And,  after  some  dispatch  in  hand  at  court, 
Thither  we  bend  again. 

34.   To  merit  an  emperor's  disdain. 
171 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  m 

Hel.    Look  on  his  letter,   madam ;    here 's  my 
passport. 
\Reads\  When  thou  canst  get  the  ring  upon  my 
finger  which  never  shall  come  oif,  and  show  me   60 
a  child  begotten  of  thy  body  that  I  am  father  to, 
then  call  me  husband  :    but  in  such  a  '  then '  I 
write  a  '  never.' 
This  is  a  dreadful  sentence. 

Count.   Brought  you  this  letter,  gentlemen  ? 

First  Gent.  Ay,  madam  ; 

And    for   the    contents'    sake    are    sorry    for  our 
pains. 

Count.   I  prithee,  lady,  have  a  better  cheer; 
If  thou  engrossest  all  the  griefs  are  thine, 
Thou  robb'st  me  of  a  moiety  :  he  was  my  son  ; 
But  I  do  wash  his  name  out  of  my  blood,  70 

And  thou  art  all  my  child.     Towards  Florence  is 
he? 

Sec.  Gent.   Ay,  madam. 

Count.  And  to  be  a  soldier? 

Sec.    Gent.    Such    is   his    noble    purpose;    and, 
believe 't. 
The  duke  will  lay  upon  him  all  the  honour 
That  good  convenience  claims. 

Count.  Return  you  thither? 

First  Gent.  Ay,  madam,  with  the  swiftest  ■  wing 
of  speed. 

HeL  \Jieads']  Till  I  have  no  wife,  I  have  nothing 
in  France. 
'Tis  bitter. 

Count.  Find  you  that  there  ? 

Hel.  Ay,  madam. 

First  Gent.   'Tis  but  the  boldness  of  his  hand, 
ha])ly,  which  his  heart  was  not  consenting  to.  80 

Count.  Nothing  in  France,  until  he  have  no  wife ! 

69.   moiety,  share. 
172 


sc.  II     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

There's  nothing  here  that  is  too  good  for  him 
But  only  she ;  and  she  deserves  a  lord 
That  twenty  such  rude  boys  might  tend  upon 
And  call  her  hourly  mistress.      Vv'ho  was  with  him  ? 

First  Gent.   A  servant  only,  and  a  gentleman 
Which  I  have  sometime  knovv-n. 

Count.  Parolles,  was  it  not  ? 

First  Gent   Ay,  my  good  lady,  he. 

Count.  A  very  tainted  fellow,  and  full  of  wicked- 
ness. 
My  son  corrupts  a  well-derived  nature  go 

With  his  inducement. 

First  Gent.  Indeed,  good  lady, 

The  fellow  has  a  deal  of  that  too  much, 
Which  holds  him  much  to  have. 

Count   You  're  welcome,  gentlemen. 
I  will  entreat  you,  when  you  see  my  son, 
To  tell  him  that  his  sword  can  never  win 
The  honour  that  he  loses  :  more  I  '11  entreat  you 
Written  to  bear  along. 

Sec.  Gent.  We  serve  you,  madam, 

In  that  and  all  your  worthiest  affairs. 

Count.   Not  so,  but  as  we  change  our  courtesies.  loo 
Will  you  draw  near  ? 

[Exeunt  Countess  and  Gentlemen. 

Hel.   'Till  I  have  no  wife,   I  have  nothing  in 
France.' 
Nothing  in  France,  until  he  has  no  wife ! 
Thou  shalt  have  none,  Rousillon,  none  in  France ; 
Then  hast  thou  all  again.      Poor  lord  !  is 't  I 
That  chase  thee  from  thy  country  and  expose 
Those  tender  limbs  of  thine  to  the  event 
Of  the  none-sparing  war  ?  and  is  it  I 
That  drive  thee  from  the  sportive  court,  where  thou 

92,  93.    He  has  plenty  of  that  superfluous  thing,  a  vain  behef 
in  his  own  merit. 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  m 

Wast  shot  at  with  fair  eyes,  to  be  the  mark  no 

Of  smoky  muskets  ?     O  you  leaden  messengers, 

That  ride  upon  the  violent  speed  of  fire, 

Fly  with  false  aim  ;  move  the  still-piecing  air, 

That  sings  with  piercing ;  do  not  touch  my  lord. 

Whoever  shoots  at  him,  I  set  him  there ; 

Whoever  chartres  on  his  forward  breast, 

I  am  the  caitiff  that  do  hold  him  to  't ; 

And,  though  I  kill  him  not,  I  am  the  cause 

His  death  was  so  effected :  better  'twere 

I  met  the  ravin  lion  when  he  roar'd  120 

With  sharp  constraint  of  hunger ;  better  'twere 

That  all  the  miseries  which  nature  owes 

AVere  mine  at  once.     No,  come  thou  home,  Rou- 

sillon. 
Whence  honour  but  of  danger  wins  a  scar. 
As  oft  it  loses  all  :  I  wall  be  gone ; 
My  being  here  it  is  that  holds  thee  hence : 
Shall  I  stay  here  to  do  't  ?  no,  no,  although 
The  air  of  paradise  did  fan  the  house 
And  angels  officed  all :  I  will  be  gone, 
That  pitiful  rumour  may  report  my  flight,  130 

To  consolate  thine  ear.      Come,  night ;  end,  day  ! 
For  with  the  dark,  poor  thief,  I  '11  steal  away. 

\_Exu. 


Scene  III.     Florence.     Before  f he  T>\JVi-E!s  palace. 

Flourish.     Enter  the  Duke  of  Florence,  Bertram, 
Parolles,  Soldiers,  Drum,  and  Trumpets. 

Duke.    The    general    of   our    horse    thou    art; 
and  we, 

113.   still-piecing,   still -clos-  120.    ravin,  ravenous, 

ing.      Steevens'  emendation  for  124.    Whence,     from     thence 

Ff  still-peering  or  still-piercing.       where. 


sc.  IV    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Great  in  our  hope,  lay  our  best  love  and  credence 
Upon  thy  promising  fortune. 

Ber.  Sir,  it  is 

A  charge  too  heavy  for  my  strength,  but  yet 
We  '11  strive  to  bear  it  for  your  worthy  sake 
To  the  extreme  edge  of  hazard. 

Duke.  Then  go  thou  forth; 

And  fortune  play  upon  thy  prosperous  helm. 
As  thy  auspicious  mistress  ! 

Ber.  This  very  day. 

Great  Mars,  I  put  myself  iiito  thy  file  : 
Make  me  but  like  my  thoughts,  and  I  shall  prove 
A  lover  of  thy  drum,  hater  of  love.  \_Exeunt. 


Scene  IV.     Rousillon.      The  Covt^t' s  J>a/ace. 

Enter  Countess  and  Steward. 

Count    Alas  !   and  would   you  take  the  letter 
of  her  ? 
Might  you  not  know  she  would  do  as  she  has  done, 
By  sending  me  a  letter  ?     Read  it  again. 

Sieii'.   [Reads] 
I  am  Saint  Jacques'  pilgrim,  thither  gone : 

Ambitious  love  hath  so  in  me  ofiended. 
That  barefoot  plod  I  the  cold  ground  upon, 

With  sainted  vow  my  faults  to  have  amended. 
Write,  Avrite,  that  from  the  bloody  course  of  war 

My  dearest  master,  your  dear  son,  may  hie  : 
Bless  him  at  home  in  peace,  whilst  I  from  far  lo 

His  name  with  zealous  fervour  sanctify  : 
His  taken  labours  bid  him  me  forgive  ; 

I,  his  despiteful  Juno,  sent  him  forth 

4.   Saint  Jacques'  pilgrim,  a  pilgrim  to  the  shrine  of  Saint  Tames 
at  Compostella,  Spain. 


All  's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act 


HI 


From  courtly  friends,  with  camping  foes  to  live, 

Where   death   and    danger    dogs    the    heels   of 
worth  : 
He  is  too  good  and  fair  for  death  and  me ; 

Whom  I  myself  embrace,  to  set  him  free. 

Count.  Ah,  what  sharp  stings  are  in  her  mildest 
words  ! 
Rinaldo,  you  did  never  lack  advice  so  much, 
As  letting  her  pass  so  :  had  I  spoke  with  her,  20 

I  could  have  well  diverted  her  intents, 
Which  thus  she  hath  prevented. 

Stew.  Pardon  me,  madam  : 

If  I  had  given  you  this  at  over-night, 
She  might  have  been  o'erta'en  ;  and  j'et  she  writes. 
Pursuit  would  be  but  vain. 

Count.  What  angel  shall 

Bless  this  unworthy  husband  ?  he  cannot  thrive, 
Unless  her  prayers,  whom  heaven  delights  to  hear 
And  loves  to  grant,  reprieve  him  from  the  wrath 
Of  greatest  justice.     Write,  write,  Rinaldo, 
To  this  unworthy  husband  of  his  wife;  '   30 

Let  every  word  weigh  heavy  of  her  worth 
That  he  does  weigh  too  light :  my  greatest  grief, 
Though  little  he  do  feel  it,  set  down  sharply. 
Dispatch  the  most  convenient  messenger : 
Vv'hen  haply  he  shall  hear  that  she  is  gone, 
He  will  return  ;  and  hope  I  may  that  she, 
Hearing  so  much,  will  speed  her  foot  again, 
Led  hither  by  pure  love  :  which  of  tliem  both 
Is  dearest  to  me,  I  have  no  skill  in  sense 
To  make  distinction  :  provide  this  messenger  :  40 

My  heart  is  heavy  and  mine  age  is  weak ; 
Grief  would  have  tears,  and  sorrow  bids  me  speak. 

YExcunt, 

19.    advice,  judgment. 
30.  this  unworthy  husband  of,  this  husband  unworthy  of. 

176 


sc.  V     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 


Scene  V.     Florence.      Without  the  walls.     A 
tucket  afar  off. 

Filter  an  old  Widow  of  Florence,  Diana,  Violenta, 
and  Mariana,  with  other  Citizens. 

Wid.  Nay,  come  ;  for  if  they  do  approach  the 
citv,  we  shall  lose  all  the  sight. 

Dia.  They  say  the  French  count  has  done  most 
honourable  service. 

Wid.  It  is  reported  that  he  has  taken  their 
greatest  commander ;  and  that  with  his  own  hand 
he  slew  the  duke's  brother.  \Tucket?\^  We  have 
lost  our  labour ;  they  are  gone  a  contrary  way  : 
hark  !   you  may  know  by  their  trumpets. 

Mar.     Come,    let 's    return    again,    and    suffice   lo 
ourselves    with    the    report    of   it.      Well,   Diana, 
take  heed  of  this  French  earl :  the  honour  of  a 
maid  is  her  name ;  and  no  legacy  is  so  rich  as 
honesty. 

Wid.  I  have  told  my  neighbour  how  you  have 
been  solicited  by  a  gentleman  his  companion. 

Afar.  I  knov;  that  knave ;  hang  him !  one 
Parolles  :  a  filthy  officer  he  is  in  tliose  suggestions 
for  the  young  earl.  Beware  of  them,  Diana ; 
their  promises,  enticements,  oaths,  tokens,  and  20 
all  these  engines  of  lust,  are  not  the  things  they 
go  under  :  many  a  maid  hath  been  seduced  by 
them  ;  and  the  misery  is,  example,  that  so  ter- 
rible shows  in  the  wreck  of  maidenhood,  cannot 
for  all  that  dissuade  succession,  but  that  they  are 
limed  with  the  twigs  that  threaten  them.  I  hope 
I  need  not  to  advise  you  further  ;  but  I  hope  your 

18.   officer,  agent.  18.   suggestions,  solicitations. 

22.  go  under,  pass  for. 

VOL.  Ill  177  N 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  m 

own  grace  will  keep  you  where  you  are,  though 
there  were  no  further  danger  known  but  the 
modesty  which  is  so  lost.  3° 

Dia.  You  shall  not  need  to  fear  me, 

Wid.  I  hope  so. 

Enter  Helena,  disguised  like  a  Pilgrim. 

Look,  here  comes  a  pilgrim  :  I  know  she  will  lie 
at  my  house  ;  thither  they  send  one  another  :  I  '11 
question  her.  God  save  you,  pilgrim  !  whither  are 
you  bound? 

Hel.  To  Saint  Jaques  le  Grand. 
Where  do  the  palmers  lodge,  I  do  beseech  you  ? 
Wid.    At   the   Saint    Francis    here  beside   the 

port. 
Hel    Is  this  the  way  ?  40 

Wid.     Ay,     marry,     is 't.        \A     march    afar.] 
Haric  you  !  they  come  this  way. 
If  you  will  tarry,  holy  pilgrim, 
But  till  the  troops  come  by, 
I  will  conduct  you  where  you  sliall  be  lodged ; 
The  rather,  for  I  think  I  know  your  hostess 
As  ample  as  myself 

Hel.  Is  it  yourself? 

Wid.   If  you  shall  please  so,  pilgrim. 

Hel.    I   thank   you,    and   will    stay   upon    your 

leisure. 
Wid.   You  came,  I  think,  from  France  ? 
Hel  I  did  so. 

Wid.     Here    you    shall    see    a   countryman    of 
yours.  so 

That  has  done  worthy  service. 

Hel  His  name,  I  pray  you. 

31,  fear,  fear  for.  39-  port,  gate. 

46,   ample,  amply. 

178 


sc.  V     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Dia.    The   Count   Rousillon  :    know   you   such 
a  one? 

Hel.    But   by  the   ear,  that   hears   most   nobly 
of  him  : 
His  face  I  know  not. 

Dia.  Whatsome'er  he  is, 

He 's  bravely  taken  here.      He  stole  from  France, 
As  'tis  reported,  for  the  king  had  married  him 
Against  his  liking  :  think  you  it  is  so  ? 

Hel.    Ay,   surely,  mere  the  truth  :   I   know  his 
lady. 

Dia.     There   is    a   gentleman   that    serves    the 
count 
Reports  but  coarsely  of  her. 

Hel.  What 's  his  name  ?       60 

Dia.   Monsieur  ParoUes. 

Hel.  O,  I  believe  with  him, 

In  argument  of  praise,  or  to  the  worth 
Of  the  great  count  himself,  she  is  too  mean 
To  have  her  name  repeated  :  all  her  deserving 
Is  a  reserved  honesty,  and  that 
I  have  not  heard  examined. 

Dia.  Alas,  poor  lady  ! 

'Tis  a  hard  bondage  to  become  the  wife 
Of  a  detesting  lord. 

Wid.     I    warrant,    good    creature,    wheresoe'er 
she  is. 
Her  heart  weighs  sadly  :  this  young  maid  might 

do  her  70 

A  shrewd  turn,  if  she  pleased. 

Hel.  How  do  you  mean  ? 

May  be  the  amorous  count  solicits  her 

62.   In  argument  of  praise,  as  66.   examined,  called  in  ques- 

a  theme  for  praise.  tion. 

69.    /  warrant.       So    Globe 
62.    to,  in  comparison  with.  editors  for  Ff  /  tvrite  or  /  right. 

179 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  m 

In  the  unlawful  purpose. 

IF/d.  He  does  indeed ; 

And  brokes  with  all  that  can  in  such  a  suit 
Corrupt  the  tender  honour  of  a  maid  : 
But  she  is  arm'd  for  him  and  keeps  her  guard 
In  honestest  defence. 

Mar.  The  gods  forbid  else  ! 

IV/d.   So,  now  they  come  : 

Drum  and  Colours. 

Enter  Bertram,  Parolles,  arid  the  'ivhole  army. 

That  is  Antonio,  the  duke's  eldest  son  ; 
That,  Escalus. 

Hel.  Which  is  the  Frenchman  ? 

Dia.  He  ;  80 

That  with  the  plume  :  'tis  a  most  gallant  fellow. 
I  would  he  loved  his  wife  :  if  he  were  honester 
He   were   much   goodlier :    is 't   not   a   handsome 
gentleman  ? 

Hel.   I  like  him  well. 

Dia.    'Tis  pity  he  is  not  honest :  yond  's  that 
same  knave 
That  leads  him  to  these  places  :  were  I  his  lady, 
I  would  poison  that  vile  rascal. 

Hel.  Which  is  he  ? 

Dia.  That  jnck-an-apes  with  scarfs  :  Avhy  is  he 
melancholy  ? 

Hel.   Perchance  he  's  hurt  i'  the  battle.  90 

Par.   Lose  our  drum  !  well. 

Mar.   He  's  shrewdly  vexed  at  something  :  look, 
he  has  spied  us. 

Wid.   Marry,  hang  you  ! 

Mar.   And  your  courtesy,  for  a  ring-carrier ! 

\Exeunt  Bertram.,  Parolles,  arid  army. 
74.  brakes,  plays  the  procurer. 
180 


SC.  VI 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 


Wi'd.    The  troop   is  past.      Come,   pilgrim,   I 
will  bring  you 
Where  you  shall  host :  of  enjoin'd  penitents 
There  's  four  or  five,  to  great  Saint  Jaques  bound, 
Already  at  my  house. 

He/.  I  humbly  thank  you  : 

Please  it  this  matron  and  this  gentle  maid 
To  eat  with  us  to-night,  the  charge  and  thanking 
Shall  be  for  me ;  and,  to  requite  you  further, 
I  will  bestow  some  precepts  of  this  virgin 
Worthy  the  note. 

Ba/i.  We  '11  take  your  offer  kindly. 

\_Ex€unf. 


Scene  VI.     CamJ>  before  Florence. 

Enter  Bertram  and  the  two  French  Lords. 

Sec.  Lord.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  put  him  to 't ; 
let  him  have  his  way. 

First  Lord.  If  your  lordship  find  him  not  a 
hilding,  hold  me  no  more  in  your  respect. 

Sec.  Lord.  On  my  life,  my  lord,  a  bubble. 

Ber.  Do  you  think  I  am  so  far  deceived  in 
him  ? 

Sec.  Lord.  Believe  it,  my  lord,  in  mine  own 
direct  knowledge,  without  any  malice,  but  to 
speak  of  him  as  my  kinsman,  he  's  a  most  notable 
coward,  an  infinite  and  endless  liar,  an  hourly 
promise-breaker,  the  owner  of  no  one  good  quality 
worthy  your  lordship's  entertainment. 

First  Lord.  It  were  fit  you  knew  him ;  lest, 
reposing  too  far  in  his  virtue,  which  he  hath  not, 

103.   of,  on.  4.  hilding,  base  fellow. 

10.  as,  as  if  he  were. 

181 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  V/ell  act  m 

he  might  at  some  great  and  trusty  business  in  a 
main  danger  fail  you. 

Ber.  I  would  I  knew  in  what  particular  action 
to  try  him. 

First  Lord.  None  better  than  to  let  him  fetch    20 
off  his  drum,  which  you  hear  him  so  confidently 
undertake  to  do. 

Sec.  Lord.  I,  with  a  troop  of  Florentines,  will 
suddenly  surprise  him  ;  such  I  will  have,  wb.om  I 
am  sure  he  knows  not  from  the  enemy  :  we  will 
bind  and  hoodwink  him  so,  that  he  shall  suppose 
no  other  but  that  he  is  carried  into  the  leaguer  of 
the  adversaries,  when  we  bring  him  to  our  own 
tents.  Be  but  your  lordship  present  at  his  examin- 
ation :  if  he  do  not,  for  the  promise  of  his  life  and  30 
in  the  highest  compulsion  of  base  fear,  offer  to 
betray  you  and  deliver  all  the  intelligence  in  his 
power  against  you,  and  that  with  the  divine  forfeit 
of  his  soul  upon  oath,  never  trust  my  judgement  in 
any  thing. 

First  Lord.  O,  for  the  love  of  laughter,  let  him 
fetch  his  drum  ;  he  says  he  has  a  stratagem  for't : 
when  your  lordship  sees  the  bottom  of  his  success 
in 't,  and  to  what  metal  this  counterfeit  lump  of 
ore  will  be  melted,  if  you  give  him  not  John  40 
Drum's  entertainment,  your  inclining  cannot  be 
removed.     Here  he  comes. 


27.    leaguer,  camp.  resorted    to     his     house     Tom 

40.    John   Drum  s  entertain-  Drum's  entertainment,  which  is, 

meni,  the  entertainment  that  a  to   hale   a  man  in  by  the  head 

drum     gets,     a     '  drumming'  ;  and  thrust  him  out  by  both  the 

hence,    an    unceremonious    ex-  shoulders.'      The    phrase    was 

pulsion.      Holinshed   relates    of  thus   proverbial.      "There  is  no 

a   hospitable   Mayor  of  Dublin  reason  to  suppose  that  Marston's 

that    '  his   porter,  or  any   other  Interlude,   Jack  Drum  s  Enter- 

officer,   durst  not,    for  both  his  tainment    (1601),     is    specially 

ears,  give  the  simplest  man  that  alluded  to. 

182 


sc.  VI    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Enter  Parolles. 

Sec.  Lord.  [Aside  to  Ber?^  O,  for  the  love  of 
laughter,  hinder  not  the  honour  of  his  design  :  let 
him  fetch  off  his  drum  in  any  hand. 

Ber.  How  now,  monsieur !  this  drum  sticks 
sorely  in  your  disposition. 

First  Lord.  A  pox  on 't,  let  it  go ;  'tis  but  a 
drum. 

Par.   'But  a  drum'!    is 't  'but   a  drum'?     A   so 
drum  so  lost !     There  was  excellent  command, — 
to  charge  in  with  our  horse  upon  our  own  wings, 
and  to  rend  our  own  soldiers  ! 

First  Lord.  That  was  not  to  be  blamed  in  the 
command  of  the  service  :  it  was  a  disaster  of  war 
that  Caesar  himself  could  not  have  prevented,  if  he 
had  been  there  to  command. 

Ber.  Wei!,  we  cannot  greatly  condemn  our 
success  :  some  dishonour  we  had  in  the  loss  of 
that  drum  \  but  it  is  not  to  be  recovered.  60 

Par.   It  might  have  been  recovered. 

Ber.   It  might ;  but  it  is  not  now. 

Par.  It  is  to  be  recovered  :  but  that  the  merit  of 
service  is  seldom  attributed  to  the  true  and  exact 
performer,  I  would  have  that  drum  or  another,  or 
'  hie  jacet.' 

Ber.  Why,  if  you  have  a  stomach,  to 't,  mon- 
sieur :  if  you  thinlc  your  mystery  in  stratagem  can 
bring  this  instrument  of  honour  again  into  his 
native  quarter,  be  magnanimous  in  the  enterprise  70 
and  go  on  ;  I  will  grace  the  attempt  for  a  worthy 
exploit  :  if  you  speed  well  in  it,  the  duke  shall 
both  speak,  of  it,  and  extend  to  you  what  further 
becomes  his  greatness,  even  to  the  utmost  syllable 
of  your  worthiness. 

45.  in  any  hand,  in  any  case.  68.  mystery,  mastery. 

183 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  m 

Par.   By  the  hand  of  a  soldier,  I  will  under- 
take it. 

Ber.   But  you  must  not  now  slumber  in  it. 

Par.    I  '11   about   it    this    evening :    and   I   will 
presently  pen  down  my  dilemmas,  encourage  my-    80 
self  in   my  certainty,   put  myself  into  my   mortal 
preparation  ;   and  by  midnight  look  to  hear  further 
from  me. 

Ber.  May  I  be  bold  to  acquaint  his  grace  you 
are  gone  about  it  ? 

Par.  I  know  not  what  the  success  will  be,  my 
lord  ;  but  the  attempt  I  vow. 

Ber.  I  know  thou  'rt  valiant ;  and,  to  the  possi- 
bility of  thy  soldiership,  will  subscribe  for  thee. 
Farewell.  90 

Par.   I  love  not  many  words.  \Exit. 

Sec.  Lord.  No  more  than  a  fish  loves  water.  Is 
not  this  a  strange  fellow,  my  lord,  that  so  con- 
fidently seems  to  undertake  this  business,  which 
he  knows  is  not  to  be  done  ;  damns  himself  to  do 
and  dares  better  be  damned  than  to  do  't  ? 

First  Lord.   You  do  not  know  him,  my    lord, 
as  we  do  :  certain  it  is,  that  he  will  steal  himself 
into  a  man's  favour  and  for  a  week  escape  a  great 
deal  of  discoveries  ;   but  when  you  find  him  out,  100 
you  have  him  ever  after. 

Ber.  Why,  do  you  think  he  will  make  no  deed 
at  all  of  this  that  so  seriously  he  does  address 
himself  unto  ? 

Sec.  Lord.  None  in  the  world  ;  but  return  with 
an  invention  and  clap  upon  you  two  or  three 
probable  lies  :  but  we  have  almost  embossed  him  ; 
you  shall  see  his  fall  to-night ;  for  indeed  he  is 
not  for  your  lordship's  respect. 

First  Lord.    We  '11  make  you  some  sport  with  no 

107.   embossed  him,  run  him  down. 
184 


sc.  vn   All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

the  fox  ere  we  case  him.  He  was  first  smoked  by 
the  old  lord  Lafeu  :  when  his  disguise  and  he  is 
parted,  tell  me  what  a  sprat  you  shall  find  him ; 
which  you  shall  see  this  very  night. 

Sec.  Lord.   I  must  go  look  my  twigs  :    he  shall 

be  caught. 
Ber.  Your  brother  he  shall  go  along  with  me. 
Sec.  Lord.  As  't  please  your  lordship  :   I  '11  leave 
you.  \Exit. 

Ber.    Now  will  I   lead  you  to  the  house,  and 
show  you. 
The  lass  I  spoke  of. 

First  Lord.  But  you  say  she  's  honest. 

Ber.  That 's  all  the  fault :  I  spoke  with  her  but 
once 
And  found  her  wondrous  cold  ;  but  I  sent  to  her, 
By  this  same  coxcomb  that  we  have  i'  the  wind. 
Tokens  and  letters  which  she  did  re-send ; 
And  this  is  all  I  have  done.     She  's  a  fair  creature  : 
Will  you  go  see  her  ? 

First  Lord.  With  all  my  heart,  my  lord. 

\Exeicnt. 


Scene  VII.     Florence.      The  Widow  s  Iiouse. 

Enter  Helena  and  Widow. 

Hel.   If  you  misdoubt  me  that  I  am  not  she, 
I  know  not  how  I  shall  assure  you  further, 
But  I  shall  lose  the  grounds  I  work  upon. 

Wid.    Though  my  estate  be  fallen,  I  was  well 
born. 
Nothing  acquainted  with  these  businesses ; 
And  would  not  put  my  reputation  now 

III.   case,  flay,  strip,  unmask. 
3.   i.e.  without  calling  Bertram  himself  as  witness. 

185 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  m 

In  any  staining  act. 

Hel.  Nor  would  I  wish  you. 

First,  give  me  trust,  the  count  he  is  my  husband, 
And  what  to  your  sworn  counsel  I  have  spoken 
Is  so  from  word  to  word  ;  and  then  you  cannot,        lo 
By  the  good  aid  that  I  of  you  shall  borrow, 
Err  in  bestowing  it. 

Wid.  I  should  believe  you  ; 

For  you  have  show'd  me  that  which  well  approves 
You  're  great  in  fortune. 

Hel.  Take  this  purse  of  gold, 

And  let  me  buy  your  friendly  help  thus  far, 
Which  I  will  over-pay  and  pay  again 
When  I  have  found  it.     The  count  he  wooes  your 

daughter, 
Lays  down  his  wanton  siege  before  her  beauty, 
Resolved  to  carry  her  :  let  her  in  fine  consent, 
As  we  '11  direct  her  how  'tis  best  to  bear  it,  ao 

Now  his  important  blood  will  nought  deny 
That  she  '11  demand  :  a  ring  the  county  wears. 
That  downward  hath  succeeded  in  his  house 
From  son  to  son,  some  four  or  five  descents 
Since  the  first  father  wore  it :  this  ring  he  holds 
In  most  rich  choice  ;  yet  in  his  idle  fire, 
To  buy  his  will,  it  would  not  seem  too  dear, 
Howe'er  repented  after. 

Wid.  Now  I  see 

The  bottom  of  your  purpose. 

Hel.   You  see  it  lawful,  then  :  it  is  no  more,  30 

But  that  your  daughter,  ere  she  seems  as  won. 
Desires  this  ring  ;  appoints  him  an  encounter  ; 
In  fine,  delivers  me  to  fill  the  time, 
Herself  most  chastely  absent :  after  this. 
To  marry  her,  I  '11  add  three  thousand  crowns 
To  what  is  past  already. 

21.    important,  importunate. 
186 


ACT  IV 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 


Wi'd.  I  have  yielded  : 

Instruct  my  daughter  how  she  shall  persever, 
That  time  and  place  with  this  deceit  so  lawful 
ISIay  prove  coherent.      Every  night  he  comes 
With  musics  of  all  sorts  and  songs  composed  40 

To  her  unworthiness  :  it  nothing  steads  us 
To  chide  him  from  our  eaves ;  for  he  persists 
As  if  his  life  lay  on  't. 

Ife/.  Why  then  to-night 

Let  us  assay  our  plot ;  which,  if  it  speed, 
Is  wicked  meaning  in  a  lawful  deed 
And  lawful  meaning  in  a  lawful  act, 
Where  both  not  sin,  and  yet  a  sinful  fact : 
But  let 's  about  it.  {Exeunt. 


ACT   IV. 

Scene  I.      Without  the  Florentine  camp. 

Enter  Second  French  Lord,  7inth  five  or  six 
other  Soldiers  in  ambush. 

Sec.  Lord.  He  can  come  no  other  way  but  by 
this  hedge-corner.  When  you  sally  upon  him, 
speak  what  terrible  language  you  will :  though 
you  understand  it  not  yourselves,  no  matter ;  for 
we  must  not  seem  to  understand  him,  unless  some 
one  among  us  whom  we  must  produce  for  an  in- 
terpreter. 

First  Sold.  Good  captain,  let  me  be  the  in- 
terpreter. 

Sec.  Lord.   Art  not  acquainted  with  him  ?  knows  10 
he  not  thy  voice  ? 

47.  fact,  deed. 
187 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  iv 

First  Sold.  No,  sir,  I  warrant  you. 

Sec.  Lo^d.   But  what  linsey-woolsey  hast  thou  to 
speak  to  us  again  ? 

First  Sold.   E'en  such  as  you  speak  to  me. 

Sec.  Lord.  He  must  think  us  some  band  of 
strangers  i'  the  adversary's  entertainment.  Now 
he  hath  a  smack  of  all  neighbouring  languages ; 
therefore  we  must  every  one  be  a  man  of  his  own 
fancy,  not  to  know  what  we  speak  one  to  another ;  20 
so  we  seem  to  know,  is  to  know  straight  our  pur- 
pose :  choughs'  language,  gabble  enough,  and  good 
enough.  As  for  you,  interpreter,  you  must  seem 
very  politic.  But  couch,  ho  !  here  he  comes,  to 
beguile  two  hours  in  a  sleep,  and  then  to  return 
and  swear  the  lies  he  forges. 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.  Ten  o'clock :  within  these  three  hours 
'twill  be  time  enough  to  go  home.  What  shall  I 
say  I  have  done  ?  It  must  be  a  very  plausive  in- 
vention that  carries  it :  they  begin  to  smoke  me ;  30 
and  disgraces  have  of  late  knocked  too  often  at 
my  door.  I  find  my  tongue  is  too  foolhardy ;  but 
my  heart  hath  the  fear  of  Mars  before  it  and  of 
his  creatures,  not  daring  the  reports  of  my  tongue. 

Sec.  Lord.   This  is  the  first  truth  that  e'er  thine 
own  tongue  was  guilty  of. 

Par.  \Vhat  the  devil  should  move  me  to  under- 
take the  recovery  of  this  drum,  being  not  ignor- 
ant of  the  impossibiUty,  and  knowing  I  had  no 
such  purpose  ?  I  must  give  myself  some  hurts,  40 
and  say  I  got  them  in  exploit :  yet  slight  ones  will 
not  carry  it ;   they  will  say,   '  Came  you  off  with 

17.   strangers,    etc.,     foreign      own    devising,    i.e.    each    must 
soldiers  ia  tiie  enemy's  service.         invent  his  own  gibberish. 
19.  of  his  own  fancy,  of  his  29.  plausive,  plausible. 

188 


sc.  I      All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

so  little  ? '  and  great  ones  I  dare  not  give.  Where- 
fore, what 's  the  instance  ?  Tongue,  I  must  put 
you  into  a  butter-woman's  mouth  and  buy  myself 
another  of  Bajazet's  mule,  if  you  prattle  me  into 
these  perils. 

Sec.  Lord.  Is  it  possible  he  should  know  what 
he  is,  and  be  that  he  is  ? 

Par.    I    would    the    cutting    of    my    garments    50 
would    serve    the    turn,    or    the    breaking   of  my 
Spanish  sword. 

Sec.  Lord.  We  cannot  afford  you  so. 

Par.  Or  the  baring  of  my  beard ;  and  to  say  it 
was  in  stratagem. 

Sec.  Lord.   'Twould  not  do. 

Par.  Or  to  drown  my  clothes,  and  say  I  was 
stripped. 

Sec.  Lord.   Hardly  serve. 

Par.  Though  I  swore  I  leaped  from  the  window  to 
of  the  citadel — 

Sec.  Lord.   How  deep  ? 

Par.  Thirty  fathom. 

Sec.  Lord.   Three  great  oaths  would  scarce  make 
that  be  believed. 

Par.   I  would  I  had  any  drum  of  the  enemy's : 
I  would  swear  I  recovered  it. 

Sec.  Lord.  You  shall  hear  one  anon. 

Par.   A  drum  now  of  the  enemy's, — 

\Alarum  within. 

Sec.    Lord.    Throca    movousus,    cargo,    cargo,  70 
cargo. 

All.    Cargo,  cargo,  cargo,  villianda   par  corbo, 
cargo. 

44.   instance,  motive.  '  Balaam's  * ;    but    these  verbal 
46.    Bajazet's    mule.        This  fatuities    hardly    belong   to    his 
has  not  been  explained.     '  Baja-  role, 
zet's '   may,    as   has    been  sug- 
gested, be  ParoUes'  blunder  for  54.   baring,  shaving. 

189 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  iv 

Par.  O,  ransom,  ransom  !  do  not  hide  mine  eyes. 
\They  seize  a  fid  blindfold  him. 

First  Sold.   Boskus  thromuldo  boskos. 

Par.   I  know  you  are  the  Muskos'  regiment : 
And  I  shall  lose  my  life  for  want  of  language : 
If  there  be  here  German,  or  Dane,  low  Dutch, 
Italian,  or  French,  let  him  speak  to  me  ;  I  '11 
Discover  that  which  shall  undo  the  Florentine.  80 

First  Sold.  Boskos  vauvado  :  I  understand  thee, 
and  can  speak  thy  tongue.  Kerelybonto,  sir,  betake 
thee  to  thy  faith,  for  seventeen  poniards  are  at  thy 
bosom. 

Par.   O! 

First  Sold.  O,  pray,  pray,  pray !  Manka 
revania  dulche. 

Sec.  Lord.   Oscorbidulchos  volivorco. 

First  Sold.  The  general  is  content  to  spare  thee  yet ; 
And,  hoodwink'd  as  thou  art,  will  lead  thee  on  90 

To  gather  from  thee  :  haply  thou  mayst  inform 
Something  to  save  thy  life. 

Par.  O,  let  me  live  ! 

And  all  the  secrets  of  our  camp  I  '11  show, 
Their  force,  their  purposes  ;  nay,  I  '11  speak  that 
Which  you  will  wonder  at. 

First  Sold.  But  wilt  thou  faithfully  ? 

Par.  If  I  do  not,  damn  me. 

First  Sold.  Acordo  linta. 
Come  on ;  thou  art  granted  space. 

\Fxit,  with  Parollcs  guarded.      A  short 

alarum  withifi. 

Sec.   Lord.    Go,  tell  the  Count   Rousillon,   and 
my  brother. 
We  have  caught  the  woodcock,  and  will  keep  him 

muffled  100 

99.    my  brother,   the  second  100.       woodcock,       brainless 

French  Lord.  fellow. 

190 


sc.  II     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Till  we  do  hear  from  them. 

Sec.  Sold.  Captain,  I  will. 

Sec.  Lord.  A'  will  betray  us  all  unto  ourselves  : 
Inform  on  that. 

Sec.  Sold.   So  I  will,  sir. 

Sec.  Lord.  Till  then   I  '11  keep  him  dark  and 
safely  lock'd.  \_Exeutit. 


Scene  II.     Florence.     The  Widow's  house. 

Enter  Bertram  and  Diana. 

Ber.    They  told  me  that  your  name  was  Fon- 
tibell. 

Dia.   No,  my  good  lord,  Diana. 

Ber.  Titled  goddess  ; 

And  worth  it,  with  addition  !     But,  fair  soul, 
In  your  fine  frame  hath  love  no  quality  ? 
If  the  quick  fire  of  youth  light  not  your  mind, 
You  are  no  maiden,  but  a  monument  : 
When  you  are  dead,  you  should  be  such  a  one 
As  you  are  now,  for  you  are  cold  and  stern ; 
And  now  you  should  be  as  your  mother  was 
When  your  sweet  self  was  got. 

Dia.  She  then  was  honest. 

Ber.  So  should  you  be. 

Dia.  No : 

My  mother  did  but  duty ;  such,  my  lord. 
As  you  owe  to  your  wife. 

Ber.  No  more  o'  that ; 

I  prithee,  do  not  strive  against  my  vows  : 
I  was  compell'd  to  her ;  but  I  love  thee 
By  love's  own  sweet  constraint,  and  will  for  ever 
Do  thee  all  rights  of  service. 

Dia-  Ay,  so  you  serve  us 

191 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well  act  iv 

Till  \v8  serve  you  ;  but  when  you  have  our  roses, 
You  barely  leave  our  thorns  to  prick  ourselves 
And  mock  us  with  our  bareness. 

Ber.  How  have  I  sworn  !     20 

Dia.   'Tis  not  the  many  oaths  that  makes  the 
truth, 
But  the  plain  single  vow  that  is  vow'd  true. 
What  is  not  holy,  that  we  swear  not  by, 
But  take  the  High'st  to  witness  :   then,  pray  you, 

tell  me, 
If  I  should  swear  by  Jove's  great  attributes, 
I  loved  you  dearly,  would  you  believe  my  oaths, 
When  I  did  love  you  ill  ?     This  has  no  holding. 
To  swear  by  him  whom  I  protest  to  love, 
That  I  will  work  against  him  :  therefore  your  oaths 
Are  words  and  poor  conditions,  but  unseal'd,  30 

At  least  in  my  opinion. 

Ber.  Change  it,  change  it ; 

Be  not  so  holy-cruel :  love  is  holy ; 
And  my  integrity  ne'er  knew  the  crafts 
That  you  do  charge  men  with.     Stand  no  more  off, 
But  give  thyself  unto  my  sick  desires, 
Who  then  recover :  say  thou  art  mine,  and  ever 
My  love  as  it  begins  shall  so  persever. 

Dia.  I  see  that  men  make  rope's  in  such  a  scarre 
That  we  '11  forsake  ourselves.     Give  me  that  ring. 

25.    Jove's.       So    Ff.      It    is  port  clearly  is  that  men  in  some 

possible  that  Shakespeare  wrote  way  bring  women  ('j  =  us)  into 

'  God's,'    and     that    this     was  the  mood  in  which  they  submit 

altered     in     deference     to    the  to    dishonour.       But    the    way 

statute    of    1606    against    pro-  referred  to  is  quite  obscure.      If 

fanity.      Yet  the  allusion  would  rope  or   ropes    is   right    it    may 

be   in  keeping  with   the  hardly  refer  either  to  the  constraining 

less   solemn  address  to  '  Dian '  force     or     to     the     entangling 

in  ii.  3.  80.  subtlety   of  the   seducer.      For 

38,     39.        No      satisfactory  scarre,   'scare'    has    been  sug- 

emendation  has  been  proposed  gested  ;    but    this    hardly   suits 

for  this  dark  passage.     Its  pur-  the  context. 

192 


sc.  a     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Ber.  I'll  lend  it  thee,  my  dear ;  but  have  no  power  40 
To  give  it  from  me. 

Dia.  Will  you  not,  my  lord  ? 

Ber.   It  is  an  honour  'longing  to  our  house, 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors  ; 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 
In  me  to  lose. 

Dia.  Mine  honour 's  such  a  ring  : 

INIy  chastity  's  the  jewel  of  our  house, 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors  ; 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 
In  me  to  lose  :  thus  your  own  proper  wisdom 
Brings  in  the  champion  Honour  on  my  part,  50 

Against  your  vain  assault. 

Ber.  Here,  take  my  ring  : 

INIy  house,  mine  honour,  yea,  my  life,  be  thine, 
And  I  '11  be  bid  by  thee. 

Dia.     When    midnight    comes,    knock    at    my 
chamber-window  : 
I  '11  order  take  my  mother  shall  not  hear. 
Now  will  I  charge  you  in  the  band  of  truth, 
When  you  have  conquer'd  my  yet  maiden  bed. 
Remain  there  but  an  hour,  nor  speak  to  me  : 
My  reasons  are  most  strong  ;  and  you  shall  know 

them 
AVhen  back  again  this  ring  shall  be  deliver'd :  60 

And  on  your  finger  in  the  night  I  '11  put 
Another  ring,  that  what  in  time  proceeds 
]\Iay  token  to  the  future  our  past  deeds. 
Adieu,  till  then ;  then,  fail  not.     You  have  won 
A  wife  of  me,  though  there  my  hope  be  done. 

Ber.  A  heaven  on  earth  I  have  won  by  wooing 
thee.      .  \_Exit. 

Dia.   For  which  live  long  to  thank  both  heaven 
and  me  ! 

55.  i?r(/er  ^a^^,  take  measures.  56.   band,  bond. 

VOL.  Ill  193  O 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  iv 

You  may  so  in  the  end. 

My  mother  told  me  just  how  he  would  woo, 

As  if  she  sat  in  's  heart ;  she  says  all  men  70 

Have  the  like  oaths  :  he  had  sworn  to  marry  me 

When  his  wife  's  dead  ;  therefore  I  '11  lie  with  him 

When   I   am   buried.       Since   Frenchmen   are  so 

braid, 
Marry  that  will,  I  live  and  die  a  maid  : 
Only  in  this  disguise  I  think  't  no  sin 
To  cozen  him  that  would  unjustly  win.  [jExit. 


Scene  III.      T/ie  Florentme  camp. 

Enter  the  two  Fre7ich  Lords  arid  some  two  or 
three  Soldiers. 

First  Lord.  You  have  not  given  him  his  mother's 
letter? 

Sec.  Lord.  I  have  delivered  it  an  hour  since  : 
there  is  something  in  't  that  stings  his  nature ;  for 
on  the  reading  it  he  changed  almost  into  another 
man. 

First  Lord.  He  has  much  worthy  blame  laid 
upon  him  for  shaking  off  so  good  a  wife  and  so 
sweet  a  lady. 

Sec.  Lord.  Especially  he  hath  incurred  the  ever- 
lasting displeasure  of  the  king,  who  had  even  tuned 
his  bounty  to  sing  happiness  to  him.  I  will  tell 
you  a  thing,  but  you  shall  let  it  dwell  darkly  with 
you. 

First  Lord.  When  you  have  spoken  it,  'tis  dead, 
and  I  am  the  grave  of  it. 

Sec.  Lord.  He  hath  perverted  a  young  gen- 
tlewoman   here    in    Florence,    of  a    most    chaste 

73.  braid,  untrustworthy,  full  of  sly  turns. 
194 


sc.  ,11    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

renown ;  and  this  night  he  fleshes  his  will  in  the 
spoil  of  her  honour  :  he  hath  given  her  his  monu-   20 
mental   ring,    and    thinks    himself   made    in    the 
unchaste  composition. 

Jursf  Lord.  Now,  God  delay  our  rebellion !  as 
we  are  ourselves,  what  things  are  we  ! 

Sec.  Lo7-d.  Merely  our  own  traitors.  And  as 
in  the  common  course  of  all  treasons,  we  still  see 
them  reveal  themselves,  till  they  attain  to  their 
abhorred  ends,  so  he  that  in  this  action  contrives 
against  his  own  nobility,  in  his  proper  stream 
o'erflows  himself.  30 

First  Lord.  Is  it  not  meant  damnable  in  us, 
to  be  trumpeters  of  our  unlawful  intents  ?  We 
shall  not  then  have  his  company  to-night  ? 

Sec.  Lord.  Not  till  after  midnight ;  for  he  is 
dieted  to  his  hour. 

First  Lord.  That  approaches  apace  ;  I  would 
gladly  have  him  see  his  company  anatomized, 
that  he  might  take  a  measure  of  his  own  judge- 
ments, wherein  so  curiously  he  had  set  this  coun- 
terfeit. 40 

Sec.  Lord.  We  will  not  meddle  with  him  till  he 
come ;  for  his  presence  must  be  the  whip  of  the 
other. 

First  Lord.  In  the  mean  time,  what  hear  you 
of  these  wars  ? 

Sec.  Lord.   I  hear  there  is  an  overture  of  peace. 

First  Lord.  Nay,  I  assure  you,  a  peace  con- 
cluded. 

Sec.    Lord.    What    will    Count    Rousillon    do 

20.    monumental,    memorial,  31.    meant    damnable    in    us, 

ancestral.              '  a  damnable  intention  of  ours. 

23.   rebellion,  i.e.  from  God's  35.   dieted  to  his  hour,  com- 

allegiance.  pelled  to  fast  until  the  prescribed 

28.  contrives,  plots.  hour  for  his  meal. 

29.  proper,  own.  37.   his  company,  ParoUes. 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  iv 

then?  will  he  travel  higher,  or  return  again  into   50 
France  ? 

First  Lord.  I  perceive,  by  this  demand,  you 
are  not  altogether  of  his  council. 

Sec.  Lord.  Let  it  be  forbid,  sir;  so  should  I 
be  a  great  deal  of  his  act. 

First  Lord.  Sir,  his  wife  some  two  months 
since  fled  from  his  house  :  her  pretence  is  a  pil- 
grimage to  Saint  Jaques  le  Grand;  which  holy 
undertaking  with  most  austere  sanctimony  she 
accomplished ;  and,  there  residing,  the  tenderness  60 
of  her  nature  became  as  a  prey  to  her  grief;  in 
fine,  made  a  groan  of  her  last  breath,  and  now  she 
sings  in  heaven. 

Sec.  Lord.   How  is  this  justified  ? 

First  Lord.  The  stronger  part  of  it  by  her 
own  letters,  which  makes  her  story  true,  even  to 
the  point  of  her  death  :  her  death  itself,  which 
could  not  be  her  office  to  say  is  come,  was  faith- 
fully confirmed  by  the  rector  of  the  place. 

Sec.  Lord.    Hath  the  count  all  this  intelligence  ?    70 

First  Lord.  Ay,  and  the  particular  confirma- 
tions, point  from  point,  to  the  full  arming  of  the 
verity. 

Sec.  Lord.  I  am  heartily  sorry  that  he  '11  be 
glad  of  this. 

First  Lord.  How  mightily  sometimes  we  make 
us  comforts  of  our  losses  ! 

Sec.    Lord.    And    how    mightily    some    other 
times   we   drown   our  gain   in   tears !     The  great 
dignity  that  his  valour  hath  here  acquired  for  him   80 
shall   at   home   be   encountered  with  a  shame  as 
ample. 

First  Lord.   The  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled 

57.  pretence,  professed  inten-  65.   stronger,  main, 

tiou.  66.   even  to,  right  up  to. 

196 


sc 


.  Ill   All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 


yarn,  good  and  ill  together :  our  virtues  would  be 
proud,  if  our  faults  whipped  them  not ;  and  our 
crimes  would  despair,  if  they  were  not  cherished 
by  our  virtues. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

How  now  !  where  's  your  master? 

Serv.    He  met  the  duke  in  the  street,   sir,    of 
whom  he  hath  taken  a  solemn  leave  :  his  lordship   90 
will   next   morning  for  France.     The   duke   hath 
offered  him  letters  of  commendations  to  the  king. 

Sec.  Lord.  They  shall  be  no  more  than  needful 
there,  if  they  were  more  than  they  can  commend. 

First  Lord.  They  cannot  be  too  sweet  for  the 
king's  tartness.      Here 's  his  lordship  now. 

Enter  Bertram. 

How  now,  my  lord  !  is 't  not  after  midnight  ? 

Ber.  I  have  to-night  dispatched  sixteen  busi- 
nesses, a  month's  length  a-piece,  by  an  abstract 
of  success  :  I  have  congied  with  the  duke,  done  100 
my  adieu  with  his  nearest ;  buried  a  wife,  mourned 
for  her ;  writ  to  my  lady  mother  I  am  return- 
ing ;  entertained  my  convoy  ;  and  between  these 
main  parcels  of  dispatch  effected  many  nicer 
needs :  the  last  was  the  greatest,  but  that  I 
have  not  ended  yet. 

Sec.  Lord.  If  the  business  be  of  any  difficulty, 
and  this  morning  your  departure  hence,  it  re- 
quires haste  of  your  lordship. 

Ber.    I   mean,   the   business  is   not   ended,   as  no 
fearing    to   hear    of   it    hereafter.      But    shall    we 
have    this    dialogue    between    the    fool    and    the 
soldier?       Come,     bring    forth     this     counterfeit 

90.  solemn,  ceremonious.  successful  summary  procedure. 

99.     abstract    of    success,     a  104.   nicer,  more  trifling. 

197 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  iv 

module,  has  deceived  me,  like  a  double-meaning 
prophesier. 

Sec.  Lord.  Bring  him  forth :  has  sat  i'  the 
stocks  all  night,  poor  gallant  knave. 

Ber.  No  matter;  his  heels  have  deserved  it, 
in  usurping  his  spurs  so  long.  How  does  he 
carry  himself?  120 

Sec.  Lord.  I  have  told  your  lordship  already, 
the  stocks  carry  him.  But  to  answer  you  as  you 
would  be  understood ;  he  weeps  like  a  wench 
that  had  shed  her  milk  :  he  hath  confessed  him- 
self to  Morgan,  whom  he  supposes  to  be  a  friar, 
from  the  time  of  his  remembrance  to  this  very 
instant  disaster  of  his  setting  i'  the  stocks  :  and 
what  think  you  he  hath  confessed  ? 

Ber.   Nothing  of  me,  has  a  '  ? 

Sec.    Lord.    His    confession    is    taken,    and    it  130 
shall  be  read  to  his  face  :  if  your  lordship  be  in  't, 
as  I  believe  you  are,  you  must  have  the  patience 
to  hear  it. 


Enter  Parolles  guarded,  and  First  Soldier. 

Ber.  A  plague  upon  him  !  muffled  !  he  can  say 
nothing  of  me  :  hush,  hush  ! 

First  Lord.    Hoodman  comes  !  Portotartarosa. 

First  Sold.     He    calls    for    the    tortures :    what 
will  you  say  without  'em  ? 

Par.   I   will  confess  what  I  know  without  con- 
straint :   if  ye   pinch  me  like  a  pasty,   I  can  say  140 
no  more. 

First  Sold.  Bosko  chimurcho. 

First  L.ord.   Boblibindo  chicurmurco. 

First  Sold.   You  are  a   merciful   general.      Our 

114.   module,  model,  delusive  imitation  (of  a  man). 
198 


sc.  in    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

general  bids  you  answer  to  what  I  shall  ask  you 
out  of  a  note. 

Par.  And  truly,  as  I  hope  to  live. 

First  Sold.  \Reads\  '  First  demand  of  him  how 
many  horse  the  duke  is  strong.'  What  say  you 
to  that?  150 

Par.  Five  or  six  thousand ;  but  very  weak 
and  unserviceable :  the  troops  are  all  scattered, 
and  the  commanders  very  poor  rogues,  upon  my 
reputation  and  credit  and  as  I  hope  to  live. 

First  Sold.   Shall  I  set  down  your  answer  so  ? 

Par.  Do  :  I  '11  take  the  sacrament  on 't,  how 
and  which  way  you  will. 

Ber.  All 's  one  to  him.  What  a  past-saving 
slave  is  this  ! 

First  Lord.    You  're    deceived,    my    lord :    this  160 
is  Monsieur  Parolles,  the  gallant  militarist, — that 
was  his  own  phrase, — that  had  the  whole  theoric 
of  war  in  the  knot  of  his  scarf,  and  the  practice 
in  the  chape  of  his  dagger. 

Sec.  Lord.  I  will  never  trust  a  man  again 
for  keeping  his  sword  clean,  nor  believe  he  can 
have  every  thing  in  him  by  wearing  his  apparel 
neatly. 

First  Sold.  Well,  that 's  set  down. 

Par.    Five   or   six   thousand   horse,   I   said, — I  170 
will  say  true, — or  thereabouts,  set  down,  for  I  '11 
speak  truth. 

First  Lord.   He  's  very  near  the  truth  in  this, 

Ber.  But  I  con  him  no  thanks  for't,  in  the 
nature  he  delivers  it. 

Par.   Poor  rogues,  I  pray  you,  say. 

First  Sold.   Well,  that 's  set  down. 

162.    theoric,  theory  ^^^  ^^.^  „^  ^^^„^^_  f^^l 

164.  chape,  the  meial  termina-      ^^  gratitude  to  him. 
tion  of  the  scabbard. 

199 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act 


IV 


Par.  I  humbly  thank  you,  sir :  a  truth 's  a 
truth,  the  rogues  are  marvellous  poor. 

First  Sold.   \Rcads\   '  Demand  of  him,  of  what  i8o 
strength  they  are  a-foot.'     AMiat  say  you  to  that  ? 

Par.  By  my  troth,  sir,  if  I  were  to  live  this 
present  hour,  I  will  tell  true.  Let  me  see : 
Spurio,  a  hundred  and  fifty  ;  Sebastian,  so  many ; 
Corambus,  so  many  ■  Jaques,  so  many ;  Guiltian, 
Cosmo,  Lodowick,  and  Graiii,  two  hundred  and 
fifty  each ;  mine  own  company,  Chitopher,  Vau- 
mond,  Bentii,  two  hundred  and  fifty  each :  so 
that  the  muster-file,  rotten  and  sound,  upon  my 
life,  amounts  not  to  fifteen  thousand  poll ;  half  190 
of  the  which  dare  not  shake  the  snow  from 
off  their  cassocks,  lest  they  shake  themselves  to 
pieces. 

Ber.  What  shall  be  done  to  him  ? 

First  Lord.  Nothing,  but  let  him  have  thanks. 
Demand  of  him  my  condition,  and  what  credit  I 
have  with  the  duke. 

First  Sold.  Well,  that's  set  down.  \Reads'\ 
'You  shall  demand  of  him,  whether  one  Captain 
Dumain  be  i'  the  camp,  a  Frenchman ;  what  his  zoo 
reputation  is  with  the  duke ;  what  his  valour, 
honesty,  and  expertness  in  wars  ;  or  whether  he 
thinks  it  were  not  possible,  with  well-weighing 
sums  of  gold,  to  corrupt  him  to  a  revolt.'  What 
say  you  to  this  ?  what  do  you  know  of  it  ? 

Par.  I  beseech  you,  let  me  answer  to  the 
particular  of  the  inter'gatories :  demand  them 
singly. 

First  Sold.  Do  you  know  this  Captain 
Dumain  ?  21a 

Par.   I  know  him  :  a'  was  a  botchers  'prentice 

182.    to  live  this  present  hour.       The   text   can   hardly  be   right. 
i.e.  for  no  more  than  this  hour.       Capell  proposed  but  this. 

200 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

in  Paris,  from  whence  he  was  whipped  for  getting 
the  shrieve's  fool  with  child, — a  dumb  innocent, 
that  could  not  say  him  nay. 

Ber.  Nay,  by  your  leave,  hold  your  hands ; 
though  I  know  his  brains  are  forfeit  to  the  next 
tile  that  falls. 

First  Sold.  Well,  is  this  captain  in  tlie  duke 
of  Florence's  camp  ? 

Par.  Upon  my  knowledge,  he  is,  and  lousy.         220 

First  Lord.  Nay,  look  not  so  upon  me ;  we 
shall  hear  of  your  lordship  anon. 

First  Sold.  AVhat  is  his  reputation  with  the 
duke? 

Par.  The  duke  knows  him  for  no  other  but 
a  poor  officer  of  mine  ;  and  writ  to  me  this  other 
day  to  turn  him  out  o'  the  band :  I  think  I  have 
his  letter  in  my  pocket. 

First  Sold.   Marry,  we  '11  search. 

Par.   In  good  sadness,  I  do  not  know ;  either  230 
it  is  there,   or  it  is   upon  a  file  with   the   duke's 
other  letters  in  my  tent. 

First  Sold.  Here  'tis ;  here 's  a  paper :  shall  I 
read  it  to  you  ? 

Par.   I  do  not  know  if  it  be  it  or  no. 

Ber.   Our  interpreter  does  it  well. 

First  Lord.   Excellently. 

First  Sold.   \Reads'\   '  Dian,  the  count 's  a  fool, 
and  full  of  gold,' — 

Par.   That    is    not  the   duke's   letter,   sir ;    that 
is  an  advertisement  to  a  proper  maid  in  Florence,  240 
one  Diana,  to  take  heed  of  the  allurement  of  one 
Count   Rousillon,  a  foolish   idle   boy,  but  for  all 
that  very  ruitish  :   I  pray  you,  sir,  put  it  up  again. 

First  Sold.  Nay,  I  '11  read  it  first,  by  your 
favour. 

230.   sadness,  earnest.  240.   advertisement,  advice. 

201 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  iv 

Par.  My  meaning  in 't,  I  protest,  was  very 
honest  in  the  behalf  of  the  maid  ;  for  I  knew  the 
young  count  to  be  a  dangerous  and  lascivious  boy, 
who  is  a  whale  to  virginity  and  devours  up  all  the 
fry  it  finds.  25* 

Ber.   Damnable  both-sides  rogue  ! 

First  Sold.   [Reads']  '  When  he  swears  oaths,  bid 
him  drop  gold,  and  take  it ; 
After  he  scores,  he  never  pays  the  score : 

Half  won  is  match  well  made  ;  match,  and  well 
make  it ; 
He  ne'er  pays  after-debts,  take  it  before ; 

And  say  a  soldier,  Dian,  told  thee  this, 

Men  are  to  mell  with,  boys  are  not  to  kiss ; 

For  count  of  this,  the  count 's  a  fool,  I  know  it, 

Who  pays  before,  but  not  when  he  does  owe  it. 
Thine,  as  he  vowed  to  thee  in  thine  ear,  260 

Parolles.' 

Ber.  He  shall  be  whipped  through  the  army 
with  this  rhyme  in  's  forehead. 

Sec.  Lord.  This  is  your  devoted  friend,  sir, 
the  manifold  linguist  and  the  armipotent  soldier. 

Ber.  I  could  endure  any  thing  before  but  a 
cat,  and  now  he  's  a  cat  to  me. 

First  Sold.  I  perceive,  sir,  by  the  general's 
looks,  we  shall  be  fain  to  hang  you. 

Par.  My  life,  sir,   in  any  case  :  not  that  I  am  270 
afraid  to  die  ;  but  that,  my  offences  being  many, 
I  would  repent  out  the  remainder  of  nature  :  let 
me  live,  sir,  in  a  dungeon,  i'  the  stocks,  or  any 
where,  so  I  may  live. 

First  Sold.  We'll  see  what  may  be  done,  so 
you  confess  freely ;  therefore,  once  more  to  this 
Captain  Dumain  :  you  have  answered  to  his  repu- 

251.   both-sides,    double-deal-  257.  mM  with,  have  dealings 

ing.  with. 

202 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

tation  with  the  duke  and  to  his  valour :  what  is 
his  honesty  ? 

Far.  He  will  steal,  sir,  an  egg  out  of  a  cloister  :  280 
for  rapes  and  ravishments  he  parallels  Nessus : 
he  professes  not  keeping  of  oaths ;  in  breaking 
'em  he  is  stronger  than  Hercules :  he  will  lie, 
sir,  with  such  volubility,  that  you  would  think 
truth  were  a  fool :  drunkenness  is  his  best  virtue, 
for  he  will  be  swine-drunk;  and  in  his  sleep  he 
does  little  harm,  save  to  his  bed-clothes  about 
him  ;  but  they  know  his  conditions  and  lay  him  in 
straw.  I  have  but  little  more  to  say,  sir,  of  his 
honesty  :  he  has  every  thing  that  an  honest  man  290 
should  not  have ;  what  an  honest  man  should 
have,  he  has  nothing. 

F/rs^  Lord.   I  begin  to  love  him  for  this. 

Ber.   For  this  description  of  thine  honesty  ?     A 
pox  upon  him  for  me,  he  's  more  and  more  a  cat. 

First    Sold.    What   say   you   to   his   expertness 
in  war? 

Far.  Faith,  sir,  has  led  the  drum  before  the 
English  tragedians ;  to  belie  him,  I  will  not,  and 
more  of  his  soldiership  I  know  not ;  except,  in  300 
that  country  he  had  the  honour  to  be  the  officer 
at  a  place  there  called  ISIile-end,  to  instruct  for 
the  doubling  of  files  :  I  would  do  the  man  what 
honour  I  can,  but  of  this  I  am  not  certain. 

First  Lord.    He    hath  out-villained    villany  so 
far,  that  the  rarity  redeems  him. 

Ber.  A  pox  on  him,  he  's  a  cat  still. 

First   Sold.     His    qualities   being   at   this   poor 

280.  steal  an   egg  out  of  a      ravished  Deianeira,  the  bride  of 
cloister,    '  steaf  anything,   how-      Hercules. 

ever   trifling,    from    any    place,  288.   conditions,  disposition, 

however  holy '  (Johnson).  298.    led,  borne. 

302.     Afile  -  end,     where    the 

281.  AVj^«j,  the  Centaur  who      London  train-bands  were  drilled. 

203 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  iv 

price,  I  need  not  to  ask  you  if  gold  will  corrupt 
him  to  revolt.  310 

Par.  Sir,  for  a  cardecue  he  will  sell  the  fee- 
simple  of  his  salvation,  the  inheritance  of  it ;  and 
cut  the  entail  from  all  remainders,  and  a  perpetual 
succession  for  it  perpetually. 

First  Sold.  What 's  his  brother,  the  other 
Captain  Dumain  ? 

Sec.  Lord.   Why  does  he  ask  him  of  me  ? 

First  Sold.  What 's  he  ? 

Par.  E'en  a  crow  o'  the  same  nest ;  not  alto- 
gether so  great  as  the  first  in  goodness,  but  greater  320 
a  great  deal  in  evil :  he  excels  his  brother  for  a 
coward,  yet  his  brother  is  reputed  one  of  the  best 
that  is  :  in  a  retreat  he  outruns  any  lackey ;  marry, 
in  coming  on  he  has  the  cramp. 

First  Sold.  If  your  life  be  saved,  will  you 
undertake  to  betray  the  Florentine  ? 

Par.  Ay,  and  the  captain  of  his  horse,  Count 
Rousillon. 

First  Sold.  I  '11  whisper  with  the  general,  and 
know  his  pleasure.  330 

Par.  [Aside]  I  '11  no  more  drumming ;  a  plague 
of  all  drums  !  Only  to  seem  to  deserve  well,  and 
to  beguile  the  supposition  of  that  lascivious  young 
boy  the  count,  have  I  run  into  this  danger.  Yet 
who  would  have  suspected  an  ambush  where  I 
was  taken  ? 

First  Sold.  There  is  no  remedy,  sir,  but  you 
must  die :  the  general  says,  you  that  have  so 
traitorously  discovered  the  secrets  of  your  army 
and  made  such  pestiferous  reports  of  men  very  340 
nobly  held,  can  serve  the  world  for  no  honest  use  ; 
therefore  you  must  die.  Come,  headsman,  off 
with  his  head. 

311.  cardecue,  Fr.  quart  d'dcit,  the  French  quarter-crown. 

204 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Par.  O  Lord,  sir,  let  me  live,  or  let  me  see 
my  death  ! 

First  Sold.  That  shall  you,  and  take  your  leave 
of  all  your  friends.  [  Uii blinding  him. 

So,  look  about  you  ^know  you  any  here? 

Ber.  Good  morrow,  noble  captain. 

Sec.  Lord.  God  bless  you,  Captain  Parolles.  330 

First  Lord.   God  save  you,  noble  captain. 

Sec.  Lord.  Captain,  what  greeting  will  you 
to  my  Lord  Lafeu  ?     I  am  for  France. 

First  Lord.  Good  captain,  will  you  give  me  a 
copy  of  the  sonnet  you  writ  to  Diana  in  behalf  of 
the  Count  Rousillon  ?  an  I  were  not  a  very  coward, 
I  'Id  compel  it  of  you  :  but  fare  you  well. 

\Exeunt  Bertram  and  Lords. 

First  Sold.  You  are  undone,  captain,  all  but 
your  scarf;  that  has  a  knot  on  't  yet. 

Par.  Who  cannot  be  crushed  with  a  plot  ?  360 

First  Sold.  If  you  could  find  out  a  country 
where  but  women  were  that  had  received  so  much 
shame,  you  might  begin  an  impudent  nation.  Fare 
ye  well,  sir ;  I  am  for  France  too  :  we  shall  speak 
of  you  there.  [Exit,  with  Soldiers. 

Par.     Yet   am    I   thankful :    if  my  heart  were 
great, 
'Twould  burst  at  this.      Captain  I  '11  be  no  more  ; 
But  I  will  eat  and  drink,  and  sleep  as  soft 
As  captain  shall :  simply  the  thing  I  am 
Shall  make  me  live.     Who  knows  himself  a  brag- 
gart, 370 
Let  him  fear  this,  for  it  will  come  to  pass 
That  every  braggart  shall  be  found  an  ass. 
Rust,  sword  !  cool,  blushes  !  and,  Parolles,  live 
Safest  in  shame  !  being  fool'd,  by  foolery  thrive  ! 
There  's  place  and  means  for  every  man  alive. 
I  '11  after  them.                                                  [Exit. 

205 


All's  Well  That  Ends  V/ell   activ 


Scene  IV.     Florence.      The  Widow's  House. 

Enter  Helena,  Widow,  atid  Diana. 

Hel.    That   you  may  well  perceive  I  have  not 
wrong'd  you, 
One  of  the  greatest  in  the  Christian  world 
Shall  be  my  surety  ;  'fore  whose  throne  'tis  needful, 
Ere  I  can  perfect  mine  intents,  to  kneel : 
Time  was,  I  did  him  a  desired  office, 
Dear  almost  as  his  life  ;  which  gratitude 
Through  flinty  Tartar's  bosom  would  peep  forth, 
And  answer,  thanks  :   I  duly  am  inform'd 
His  grace  is  at  Marseilles ;  to  which  place 
We  have  convenient  convoy.     You  must  know,         lo 
I  am  supposed  dead :  the  army  breaking. 
My  husband  hies  him  home  ;  where,  heaven  aiding, 
And  by  the  leave  of  my  good  lord  the  king, 
We  '11  be  before  our  welcome. 

IVid.  Gentle  madam, 

You  never  had  a  servant  to  whose  trust 
Your  business  was  more  welcome. 

Hel.  Nor  you,  mistress 

Ever  a  friend  whose  thoughts  more  truly  labour 
To  recompense  your  love :  doubt  not  but  heaven 
Hath  brought  me  up  to  be  your  daughter's  dower, 
As  it  hath  fated  her  to  be  my  motive  20 

And  helper  to  a  husband.      But,  O  strange  men ! 
That  can  such  sweet  use  make  of  what  they  hate, 
When  saucy  trusting  of  the  cozen'd  thoughts 
Defiles  the  pitchy  night :  so  lust  doth  play 

6.   'ivhich  gratitude,  gratitude  ii.    breaking,  disbanding, 

in    respect    of    (in    return    for)  16.  Nor  you, mistress ;  Ko'we's 

which.  correction  (a.fter  Fg)  for  nor youf 

9.  Marseilles;  three  syllables.  mistress  [Y-^. 

Ff  have  Marcellae  or  Marsellis.  20.   motive,  instrument. 

206 


sc.  V     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

With  what  it  loathes  for  that  which  is  away. 
But  more  of  this  hereafter.      You,  Diana, 
Under  my  poor  instructions  yet  must  suffer 
Something  in  my  behalf. 

Dia.  Let  death  and  honesty 

Go  with  your  impositions,  I  am  yours 
Upon  your  will  to  suffer. 

Hel.  Yet,  I  pray  you :  30 

But  with  the  word  the  time  will  bring  on  summer, 
When  briers  shall  have  leaves  as  well  as  thorns, 
And  be  as  sweet  as  sharp.     We  must  away ; 
Our  waggon  is  prepared,  and  time  revives  us  : 
All  's  well  that  ends  well  :  still  the  fine 's  the 

crown  ; 
Whate'er  the  course,  the  end  is  the  renown. 

\Exeunt. 


Scene  V.     Rousillon.      The  Count's  palace. 

Enter  Countess,  Lafeu,  and  Clown. 

Laf.  No,  no,  no,  your  son  was  misled  with  a 
snipt-taffeta  fellow  there,  whose  villanous  saffron 
would  have  made  all  the  unbaked  and  doughy 
youth  of  a  nation  in  his  colour  :  your  daughter-in- 
law  had  been  alive  at  this  hour,  and  your  son  here 
at  home,  more  advanced  by  the  king  than  by  that 
red-tailed  humble-bee  I  speak  of 

Count.  I  would  I  had  not  known  him ;  it  was 
the  death  of  the  most  virtuous  gentlewoman  that 
ever  nature  had  praise  for  creating.      If  she  had    10 

30.    Yet,  I  pray  you ;  Helena      colour  in  dress,   hence  charac- 

resumes  her  '.yet '  of  v.  27.  teristic      of      the      pretentious 

,      ,  .,  Parolles  ;    it  was    also  used   to 

31    xinth  the  word,  while  we      ^^^^^^  ^^^^^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^  ^j^^i^^ 

speak,  in  a  moment.  ^^  metaphor  in  '  unbaked '  and 

2.     saffron,     a     fashionable      'doughy.' 

207 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well   act  iv 

partaken  of  ray  flesh,  and  cost  me  the  dearest 
groans  of  a  mother,  I  could  not  have  owed  her  a 
more  rooted  love. 

Laf.  'Twas  a  good  lady,  'twas  a  good  lady: 
we  may  pick  a  thousand  salads  ere  we  light  on 
such  another  herb. 

Clo.  Indeed,  sir,  she  was  the  sweet-marjoram 
of  the  salad,  or  rather,  the  herb  of  grace. 

Laf.  They  are  not  herbs,  you  knave ;  they  are 
nose-herbs.  20 

Clo.  I  am  no  great  Nebuchadnezzar,  sir  ;  I 
have  not  much  skill  in  grass. 

Laf.  Whether  dost  thou  profess  thyself,  a 
knave  or  a  fool  ? 

Clo.  A  fool,  sir,  at  a  woman's  service,  and  a 
knave  at  a  man's. 

Laf.   Your  distinction  ? 

Clo.  I  would  cozen  the  man  of  his  wife  and  do 
his  service. 

Laf.    So    you    were    a    knave    at    his    service,    30 

indeed. 

Clo.  And  I  would  give  his  wife  my  bauble, 
sir,  to  do  h3r  service. 

Laf.  I  will  subscribe  for  thee,  thou  art  both 
knave  and  fool. 

Clo.   At  your  service. 

Laf.   No,  no,  no. 

Clo.  Why,  sir,  if  I  cannot  serve  you,  I  can 
serve  as  great  a  prince  as  you  are. 

Laf.    Who  's  that  ?  a  Frenchman  ?  40 

Clo.  Faith,  sir,  a'  has  an  English  name  ;  but 
his  fisnomy  is  more  hotter  in  France  than  there. 

Laf   What  prince  is  that  ? 

18.   herd  of  grace,  the   plant      the    'black    prince."      Name    is 
Ruta  graveolens,  rue.  Rowe's  emendation  for  Ff»«ar««, 

41.    an    English    name,    i.e.       mean. 

208 


sc.  V     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Clo.  The  black  prince,  sir;  alias,  the  prince 
of  darkness  ;  alias,  the  devil. 

Laf.  Hold  thee,  there 's  my  purse  :  I  give  thee 
not  this  to  suggest  thee  from  thy  master  thou 
talkest  of ;  serve  him  still. 

Clo.  I  am  a  woodland  fellow,  sir,  that  always 
loved  a  great  fire ;  and  the  master  I  speak  of  ever  50 
keeps  a  good  fire.  But,  sure,  he  is  the  prince  of 
the  world ;  let  his  nobility  remain  in  's  court.  I 
am  for  the  house  with  the  narrow  gate,  which  I 
take  to  be  too  little  for  pomp  to  enter :  some  that 
humble  themselves  may ;  but  the  many  will  be 
too  chill  and  tender,  and  they  '11  be  for  the  flowery 
way  that  leads  to  the  broad  gate  and  the  great 
fire. 

Laf.  Go   thy   ways,    I   begin   to   be   aweary   of 
thee;  and  I  tell  thee  so  before,  because  I  would    60 
not   fall   out   with   thee.     Go   thy   ways :    let   my 
horses  be  well  looked  to,  without  any  tricks. 

Clo.  If  I  put  any  tricks  upon  'em,  sir,  they 
shall  be  jades'  tricks ;  which  are  their  own  right 
by  the  law  of  nature.  \Exit. 

Laf.  A  shrewd  knave  and  an  unhappy. 

Coimt    So  he  is.     jNIy  lord  that 's  gone  made 
himself  much  sport  out  of  him  :    by  his  authority 
he  remains  here,  which  he  thinks  is  a  patent  for 
his  sauciness  ;    and,  indeed,  he  has  no  pace,  but    70 
runs  where  he  will. 

Laf.  I  like  him  well ;  'tis  not  amiss.  And  I 
was  about  to  tell  you,  since  I  heard  of  the  good 
lady's  death  and  that  my  lord  your  son  was  upon 
his  return  home,  I  moved  the  king  my  master  to 
speak  in  .the  behalf  of  my  daughter ;  which,  in 
the  minority  of  them  both,  his  majesty,  out  of  a 

47.   suggest,  seduce. 
65.  shrewd  and  unhappy,  evil  and  mischievous. 

VOL.  Ill  209  P 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  iv 

self-gracious  remembrance,  did  first  propose  :    his 
highness  hath  promised  me  to  do  it :  and,  to  stop 
up  the  displeasure  he  hath  conceived  against  your   80 
son,  there  is   no   fitter   matter.      How   does  your 
ladyship  like  it  ? 

Count  With  very  much  content,  my  lord; 
and  I  wish  it  happily  effected. 

Laf.  His  highness  comes  post  from  Marseilles, 
of  as  able  body  as  when  he  numbered  thirty  :  he 
will  be  here  to-morrow,  or  I  am  deceived  by  him 
that  in  such  intelligence  hath  seldom  failed. 

Count.    It  rejoices  me,  that  I  hope  I  shall  see 
him  ere  I  die.      I  have   letters  that  my   son  will  90 
be  here  to-night :  I  shall  beseech  your  lordship  to 
remain  with  me  till  they  meet  together. 

Laf.  Madam,  I  was  thinking  with  what  manners 
I  might  safely  be  admitted. 

Count.  You  need  but  plead  your  honourable 
privilege. 

Laf.  Lady,  of  that  I  have  made  a  bold  charter; 
but  I  thank  my  God  it  holds  yet. 

Re-enter  Clown. 

Clo.  O  madam,  yonder 's  my  lord  your  son 
with  a  patch  of  velvet  on  's  face  :  whether  there  100 
be  a  scar  under 't  or  no,  the  velvet  knows ;  but  'tis 
a  goodly  patch  of  velvet :  his  left  cheek  is  a  cheek 
of  two  pile  and  a  half,  but  his  right  cheek  is  worn 
bare. 

Laf  A  scar  nobly  got,  or  a  noble  scar,  is  a 
good  livery  of  honour  ;  so  beHke  is  that. 

Clo.   But  it  is  your  carbonadoed  face. 

Laf.  Let  us  go  see  your  son,  I  pray  you  :  I 
long  to  talk  with  the  young  noble  soldier. 

107.   carbonadoed,  hacked  to  pieces  (said  properly  of  meat  ctit 
up  for  broiling). 

210 


ACT  V     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

C/o.  Faith,  there  's  a  dozen  of  'em,  with  deli- 
cate fine  hats  and  most  courteous  feathers,  which 
bow  the  head  and  nod  at  every  man.         \Excu7it. 


ACT   V. 

Scene  I.     Marseilles.     A  street. 

Enter  Helena,  Widow,  and  Diana,  with  two 
Attendants. 

Hel.   But  this  exceeding  posting  day  and  night 
Must  wear  your  spirits  low ;  we  cannot  help  it : 
But  since  you  have  made  the  days  and  nights  as  one, 
To  wear  your  gentle  limbs  in  my  affairs, 
Be  bold  you  do  so  grow  in  my  requital 
As  nothing  can  unroot  you.      In  happy  time; 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

This  man  may  help  me  to  his  majesty's  ear, 

If  he  would  spend  his  power.      God  save  you,  sir. 

Gent.   And  you. 

Hel.  Sir,  I  have  seen  you  in  the  court  of  France,    lo 

Gent.   I  have  been  sometimes  there. 

Hel.   I  do  presume,  sir,  that  you  are  not  fallen 
From  the  report  that  goes  upon  your  goodness ; 
And  therefore,  goaded  with  most  sharp  occasions, 
Which  lay  nice  manners  by,  I  put  you  to 
The  use  of  your  own  virtues,  for  the  which 
I  shall  continue  thankful. 

Gent.  What 's  your  will  ? 

5.  bold,  dssured.  a  keeper  of  goshawks  ;  but  as 

6.  Enter  a  Gentleman.  Fj  no  use  is  made  of  the  speaker 
has  '  A  gentle  Astringer. '  All  in  this  charactei ,  the  word  is 
his  speeches,  however,  are  pre-  probably  corrupt. 

fixed   Gent.     An  'astringer'  is  15.    nice,  scrupulous. 

211 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well     act  v 

Hel.   That  it  will  please  you 
To  give  this  poor  petition  to  the  king, 
And  aid  me  with  that  store  of  power  you  have  so 

To  come  into  his  presence. 

Gent.   The  king  's  not  here. 

Hel.  Not  here,  sir  ! 

Gent.  '  Not,  indeed : 

He  hence  removed  last  night  and  with  more  haste 
Than  is  his  use. 

JVt'd.  Lord,  how  we  lose  our  pains  ! 

JTel.  All  's  well  that  ends  well  yet, 
Though  time  seem  so  adverse  and  means  unfit. 
I  do  beseech  you,  whither  is  he  gone  ? 

Gent   Marry,  as  I  take  it,  to  Rousillon ; 
Whither  I  am  going. 

Jle/.  I  do  beseech  you,  sir, 

Since  you  are  like  to  see  the  king  before  me,  30 

Commend  the  paper  to  his  gracious  hand, 
Which  I  presume  shall  render  you  no  blame 
But  rather  make  you  thank  your  pains  for  it. 
I  will  come  after  you  with  what  good  speed 
Our  means  will  make  us  means. 

Genf.  This  I  '11  do  for  you. 

Ife/.    And  you   shall   find  yourself  to   be  well 
thank'd, 
Whate'er  falls  more.     We  must  to  horse  again. 
Go,  go,  provide.  \Exeunt. 


Scene  II.     Rousillon.     Before  the  Covai's  palace. 

Enter  Clown,  and  Parolles,  follotving. 

Far.  Good  Monsieur  Lavache,  give  my  Lord 
Lafeu  this  letter  :  I  have  ere  now,  sir,  been  better 
known  to  you,  when  I  have  held  familiarity  with 

1.   Lavache.     Toilet's  conjecture  for  Ff  Lavatch,  Levatck. 

212 


SC.  II 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 


fresher  clothes ;  but  I  am  now,  sir,  muddied  in 
fortune's  mood,  and  smell  somewhat  strong  of  her 
strong  displeasure. 

Clo.  Truly,  fortune's  displeasure  is  but  sluttish, 
if  it  smell  so  strongly  as  thou  speakest  of :  I  will 
henceforth  eat  no  fish  of  fortune's  buttering. 
Prithee,  allow  the  wind.  lo 

Par.  Nay,  you  need  not  to  stop  your  nose,  sir  ; 
I  spake  but  by  a  metaphor. 

Clo.  Indeed,  sir,  if  your  metaphor  stink,  I  will 
stop  my  nose ;  or  against  any  man's  metaphor. 
Prithee,  get  thee  further. 

Par.   Pray  you,  sir,  deliver  me  this  paper. 

Clo.  Foh  !  prithee,  stand  away  :  a  paper  from 
fortune's  close-stool  to  give  to  a  nobleman  !  Look, 
here  he  comes  himself. 

Enter  Lafeu. 

Here  is  a  purr  of  fortune's,  sir,  or  of  fortune's  cat,  zo 
— but  not  a  musk-cat, — that  has  fallen  into  the 
unclean  fishpond  of  her  displeasure,  and,  as  he 
says,  is  muddied  withal :  pray  you,  sir,  use  the 
carp  as  you  may  ;  for  he  looks  like  a  poor,  decayed, 
ingenious,  foolish,  rascally  knave.  I  do  pity  his 
distress  in  my  similes  of  comfort  and  leave  him  to 
your  lordship.  \Extt. 

Par.  My  lord,  I  am  a  man  whom  fortune  hath 
cruelly  scratched. 

Laf.  And  what  would  you  have  me  to  do  ?  'Tis  30 
too  late  to  pare  her  nails  nov>\  Wherein  have 
you  played  the  knave  with  fortune,  that  she  should 
scratch  you,  who  of  herself  is  a  good  lady  and 
would  noi  have  knaves  thrive  long  under  her  ? 
There 's  a  cardecue  for  you  :  let  the  justices  make 
you  and  fortune  friends  :  I  am  for  other  business. 
26.  similes.  Theobald's  emendation  for  Ff  smiles. 
213 


All 's  V/ell  That  Ends  Well     act  v 

Par.  I  beseech  your  honour  to  hear  me  one 
single  word. 

Laf.  You  beg  a  suigle  penny  more :  come, 
you  shall  ha  't ;  save  your  word.  40 

Par.   My  name,  my  good  lord,  is  ParoUes. 

Laf.  You  beg  more  than  'word,'  then.  Cox 
my  passion  !  give  me  your  hand.  How  does  your 
drum  ? 

Par.  O  my  good  lord,  you  were  the  first  that 
found  me  ! 

Laf.  Was  I,  in  sooth  ?  and  I  was  the  first  that 
lost  thee. 

Par.  It  lies  in  you,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  in 
some  grace,  for  you  did  bring  me  out.  50 

Laf.  Out  upon  thee,  knave !  dost  thou  put 
upon  me  at  once  both  the  office  of  God  and  the 
devil?  One  brings  thee  in  grace  and  the  other 
brings  thee  out.  \Trinnpets  sotaid.']  The  king's 
coming ;  I  know  by  his  trumpets.  Sirrah,  in- 
quire further  after  me;  I  had  talk  of  you  last 
night  :  though  you  are  a  fool  and  a  knave,  you 
shall  eat ;  go  to,  follow. 

Par.  I  praise  God  for  you.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  in.     Rousillon.     The  Cov-i^T's  palace. 

Flourish.     Enter  King,  Countess,  Lafeu,  tlie 
two  French  Lords,  with  Attendants. 

King.   We  lost  a  jewel  of  her ;  and  our  esteem 
Was  made  much  poorer  by  it :  but  your  son, 
As  mad  in  folly,  lack'd  the  sense  to  know 
Her  estimation  home. 

Count.  'Tis  past,  my  liege  ; 

46.  found  me,  found  me  out.  i.  eUeem,  reputation. 

214 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

And  I  beseech  your  majesty  to  make  it 
Natural  rebellion,  done  i'  the  blaze  of  youth  ; 
When  oil  and  fire,  too  strong  for  reason's  force, 
O'erbears  it  and  burns  on. 

Ki>ig.  My  honour'd  lady, 

I  have  forgiven  and  forgotten  all ; 
Though  my  revenges  were  high  bent  upon  him,         lo 
And  watch'd  the  time  to  shoot, 

Laf.  This  I  must  say, 

But  first  I  beg  my  pardon,  the  young  lord 
Did  to  his  majesty,  his  mother  and  his  lady 
Oifence  of  mighty  note  ;  but  to  himself 
The  greatest  wrong  of  all.     He  lost  a  wife 
Whose  beauty  did  astonish  the  survey 
Of  richest  eyes,  whose  words  all  ears  took  captive, 
Whose  dear  perfection  hearts  that  scorn'd  to  serve 
Humbly  call'd  mistress. 

King.  Praising  what  is  lost 

Makes  the    remembrance  dear.      Well,   call  him 

hither ;  20 

We  are  reconciled,  and  the  first  view  shall  kill 
All  repetition  :  let  him  not  ask  our  pardon ; 
The  nature  of  his  great  offence  is  dead, 
And  deeper  than  oblivion  we  do  bury 
The  incensing  relics  of  it :  let  him  approach, 
A  stranger,  no  offender ;  and  inform  him 
So  'tis  our  will  he  should. 

Gent  I  shall,  my  liege.      [Exit. 

King.    What  says  he  to   your  daughter?   have 
you  spoke  ? 

Laf.    All    that    he   is    hath    reference    to    your 
highness. 

Kitig.   Then  shall  we   have  a   match.      I   have 

letters  sent  me  30 

That  set  him  high  in  fame. 

6.   blaze  ;  so  Theobald  for  Ff  blade, 
215 


All's  Well  That  Ends  Well     actv 

Efiter  Bertram. 

Laf.  He  looks  well  on 't. 

King.   I  am  not  a  day  of  season, 
For  thou  mayst  see  a  sunshine  and  a  hail 
In  me  at  once :  but  to  the  brightest  beams 
Distracted  clouds  give  way ;  so  stand  thou  forth ; 
The  time  is  fair  again. 

Ber.  My  high-repented  blames, 

Dear  sovereign,  pardon  to  me. 

Ki?ig.  All  is  whole ; 

Not  one  word  more  of  the  consumed  time. 
Let 's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top ; 
For  we  are  old,  and  on  our  quick'st  decrees  40 

The  inaudible  and  noiseless  foot  of  Time 
Steals  ere  we  can  effect  them.     You  remember 
The  daughter  of  this  lord  ? 

Ber.  Admirincly,  my  liege,  at  first 
I  stuck  my  choice  upon  her,  ere  my  heart 
Durst  make  too  bold  a  herald  of  my  tongue 
Where  the  impression  of  mine  eye  infixing, 
Contempt  his  scornful  perspective  did  lend  me, 
Which  vvarp'd  the  line  of  every  other  favour ; 
Scorn'd  a  fair  colour,  or  express'd  it  stolen ;  50 

Extended  or  contracted  all  proportions 
To  a  most  hideous  object :  thence  it  came 
That  she  whom  all  men  praised  and  whom  my- 
self. 
Since  I  have  lost,  have  loved,  was  in  mine  eye 
The  dust  that  did  offend  it. 

Kittg.  Well  excused  : 

That  thou  didst  love  her,  strikes  some  scores  away 
From  the  great  compt :   but  love  that  comes  too 

late. 
Like  a  remorseful  pardon  slowly  carried, 

48.  perspective,  a  glass  producing  optical  illusion. 
216 


sc.  Ill     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

To  the  great  sender  turns  a  sour  cffence, 

Crying,    '  That 's    good    that 's    gone.'      Our  rash 

faults  60 

Make  trivial  price  of  serious  things  we  have, 
Not  knowing  them  until  we  know  their  grave : 
Oft  our  displeasures,  to  ourselves  unjust, 
Destroy  our  friends  and  after  weep  their  dust : 
Our  own  love  waking  cries  to  see  what 's  done, 
While  shameful  hate  sleeps  out  the  afternoon. 
Be  this  sweet  Helen's  knell,  and  now  forget  her. 
Send  forth  your  amorous  token  for  fair  Maudlin  : 
The  main  consents  are  had ;  and  here  we  '11  stay 
To  see  our  widower's  second  marriage-day.  70 

Count.    Which    better    than    the   first,    O   dear 

heaven,  bless  ! 
Or,  ere  they  meet,  in  me,  O  nature,  cesse  ! 

Laf.  Come  on,  my  son,  in  whom  my  house's 

name 
Must  be  digested,  give  a  favour  from  you 
To  sparkle  in  the  spirits  of  my  daughter. 
That   she   may  quickly  come.      [Bertram  gives  a 

n'ng.]     By  my  old  beard. 
And  every  hair  that's  on  't,  Helen,  that's  dead, 
Was  a  sweet  creature  :  such  a  ring  as  this, 
The  last  that  e'er  I  took  her  leave  at  court, 
I  saw  upon  her  finger. 

Ber.  Hers  it  was  not.  80 

King.   Now,  pray  you,  let  me  see  it ;  for  mine 

eye. 
While  I  was  speaking,  oft  was  fasten'd  to  't. 
This  ring  was  mine ;  and,  when  I  gave  it  Helen, 

66.    This    is    commonly    ex-  hate  is  antithetical  to  the  wak- 

plained    to  "  mean     that     '  hate  ing  of  love,  i.e.  that  hate,  struck 

sleeps  at  ease,    unmolested    by  with    shame,    is    for    the    time 

any    memory     of     the     dead '  lulled. 
(Malone).       But     the     context  72.   cesse,  cease, 

rather  suggests  that  the  sleep  of         74.  digested,  absorbed, 

217 


All's  Well  That  Ends  Well     actv 

I  bade  her,  if  her  fortunes  ever  stood 

Necessitied  to  help,  that  by  this  token 

I  would  relieve  her.     Had  you  that  craft,  to  reave 

her 
Of  what  should  stead  her  most  ? 

Ber.  My  gracious  sovereign, 

Howe'er  it  pleases  you  to  take  it  so, 
The  ring  was  never  hers. 

Count.  Son,  on  my  life, 

I  have  seen  her  wear  it ;  and  she  reckon'd  it  90 

At  her  hfe's  rate. 

Laf.  I  am  sure  I  saw  her  wear  it. 

Ber.    You   are  deceived,   my  lord;   she   never 
saw  it ; 
In  Florence  was  it  from  a  casement  thrown  me, 
Wrapp'd  in  a  paper,  which  contain'd  the  name 
Of  her  that  threw  it :  noble  she  was,  and  thought 
I  stood  engaged  :  but  when  I  had  subscribed 
To  mine  own  fortune  and  inform'd  her  fully 
I  could  not  answer  in  that  course  of  honour 
As  she  had  made  the  overture,  she  ceased 
In  heavy  satisfaction  and  would  never  100 

Receive  the  ring  again. 

Kins'.  Plutus  himself, 

That  knows  the  tinct  and  multiplying  medicine, 
Hath  not  in  nature's  mystery  more  science 
Than    I    have    in    this    ring  :    'twas    mine,    'twas 

Helen's, 
Whoever  gave  it  you.     Then,  if  you  know 
Tliat  you  are  well  acquainted  with  yourself, 
Confess  'twas  hers,  and   by  what   rough  enforce- 
ment 
You  got  it  from  her  :  she  call'd  the  saints  to  surety 

100.    heavy  satisfaction,    sad      medicine,    the  elixir  of  the   al- 
acquiescence.  chemists,  used  in  '  making '  and 

IC2.    tinct    and  multiplying      '  multiplying  '  gold. 

218 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

That  she  would  never  put  it  from  her  finger, 
Unless  she  gave  it  to  yourself  in  bed,  no 

Where  you  have  never  come,  or  sent  it  us 
Upon  her  great  disaster. 

Ber.  She  never  saw  it. 

King.  Thou  speak'st  it  falsely,  as  I  love  mine 
honour ; 
And  makest  conjectural  fears  to  come  into  me, 
Which  I  would  fain  shut  out.      If  it  should  prove 
That  thou  art  so  inhuman, — 'twill  not  prove  so  ; — 
And  yet  I  know  not :  thou  didst  hate  her  deadly, 
And  she  is  dead ;  which  nothing,  but  to  close 
Her  eyes  myself,  could  win  me  to  believe. 
More  than  to  see  this  ring.     Take  him  away.  120 

\Giiards  seize  Bertram, 
IMy  fore-past  proofs,  howe'er  the  matter  fall. 
Shall  tax  my  fears  of  little  vanity, 
Having  vainly  fear'd  too  little.     Away  with  him  ! 
"We  '11  sift  this  matter  further. 

Ber.  If  you  shall  prove 

This  ring  was  ever  hers,  you  shall  as  easy 
Prove  that  I  husbanded  her  bed  in  Florence, 
W^here  yet  she  never  was.  \Exit,  guarded. 

King.   I  am  wrapp'd  in  dismal  thinkings. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 
Gent  Gracious  sovereign, 

Whether  I  have  been  to  blame  or  no,  I  know  not : 
Here 's  a  petition  from  a  Florentine,  130 

Who  hath  for  four  or  five  removes  come  short 
To  tender  it  herself.     I  undertook  it, 
Vanquish'd  thereto  by  the  fair  grace  and  speech 
Of  the  poor  suppliant,  who  by  this  1  know 
Is  here  attending :  her  business  looks  in  her 
With  an  importing  visage  ;  and  she  told  me, 

131,   removes,  post-stations. 
219 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well     act  v 

In  a  sweet  verbal  brief,  it  did  concern 
Your  highness  with  herself. 

King.  \Reads\  Upon  his  many  protestations  to 
marry  me  when  his  wife  was  dead,  I  blush  to  say  14a 
it,  he  won  me.  Now  is  the  Count  Rousillon  a 
widower :  his  vows  are  forfeited  to  me,  and  my 
honour 's  paid  to  him.  He  stole  from  Florence, 
taking  no  leave,  and  I  follow  him  to  his  country 
for  justice  :  grant  it  me,  O  king  !  in  you  it  best 
lies  ;  otherwise  a  seducer  flourishes,  and  a  poor 
maid  is  undone.  Diana  Capilet. 

Laf.   I  will  buy  me  a  son-in-law  in  a  fair,  and 
toll  for  this  :   I  '11  none  of  him. 

King.  The  heavens  have  thought  well  on  thee, 
Lafeu,  150 

To  bring  forth  this  discovery.     Seek  these  suitors  : 
Go  speedily  and  bring  again  the  count. 
I  am  afeard  the  life  of  Helen,  lady, 
Was  foully  snatch'd. 

Count.  Now,  justice  on  the  doers  ! 

Re-enter  Bertram,  guarded. 

King.  I  wonder,  sir,  sith  wives  are  monsters 
to  you, 

And  that  you  fly  them  as  you  swear  them  lord- 
ship, 

Yet  you  desire  to  marry. 

Enter  Widow  and  Diana. 

What  woman  's  that  ? 
Dia.   I  am,  my  lord,  a  wretched  Florentine, 
Derived  from  the  ancient  Capilet : 
My  suit,  as  I  do  understand,  you  know,  160 

And  therefore  know  how  far  I  may  be  pitied. 

137.     verbal    brief,    concise  149.   toll  for  this,  pay  for  the 

narrative.  license  to  sell  Bertram. 

220 


sc.  in    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Wt'd.    I   am  her  mother,   sir,   whose  age  and 
honour 
Both  suffer  under  this  complaint  we  bring, 
And  both  shall  cease,  without  your  remedy. 

King.  Come  hither,  count ;  do  you  know  these 

women  ? 
£er.   My  lord,  I  neither  can  nor  will  deny 
But  that  I  know  them  :  do  they  charge  me  further  ? 
Dia.   Why  do  you  look  so  strange  upon  your 

wife  ? 
Ber.  She 's  none  of  mine,  my  lord. 
Dia.  If  you  shall  marry. 

You  give  away  this  hand,  and  that  is  mine ;  170 

You  give  away  heaven's  vows,  and  those  are  mine ; 
You  give  away  myself,  which  is  known  mine ; 
For  I  by  vow  am  so  embodied  yours. 
That  she  which  marries  you  must  marry  me. 
Either  both  or  none.    . 

Laf.  Your  reputation  comes  too  short  for  my 
daughter ;  you  are  no  husband  for  her. 

Ber.    My  lord,  this   is  a   fond  and   desperate 
creature, 
Whom  sometime  I  have   laugh'd  with  :   let   your 

highness 
Lay  a  more  noble  thought  upon  mine  honour  iSa 

Than  for  to  think  that  I  would  sink  it  here. 

Kitig.    Sir,    for   my   thoughts,   you    have   them 
ill  to  friend 
Till   your   deeds    gain   them :    fairer   prove   your 

honour 
Than  in  my  thought  it  lies. 

Bid.  Good  my  lord, 

Ask  him  upon  his  oath,  if  he  does  think 
He  had  not  my  virginity. 

King.  What  say'st  thou  to  her  ? 
Ber.  She 's  impudent,  my  lord, 

221 


All's  Well  That  Ends  Well     actv 

And  was  a  common  gamester  to  the  camp. 

Dia.   He  does  me  wrong,  my  lord  ;  if  I  were  so, 
He  might  liave  bought  me  at  a  common  price :        190 
Do  not  beheve  him.      O,  behold  this  ring, 
Whose  high  respect  and  rich  validity 
Did  lack  a  parallel ;  yet  for  all  that 
He  gave  it  to  a  commoner  o'  the  camp, 
If  I  be  one. 

Count.  He  blushes,  and  'tis  it : 
Of  six  preceding  ancestors,  that  gem, 
Conferr'd  by  testament  to  the  sequent  issue, 
Hath  it  been  owed  and  worn.     This  is  his  wife ; 
That  ring  's  a  thousand  proofs. 

King.  Methought  you  said 

You  saw  one  here  in  court  could  witness  it.  200 

Dia.   I  did,  my  lord,  but  loath  am  to  produce 
So  bad  an  instrument :  his  name's  ParoUes. 
Laf.   I  saw  the  man  to-day,  if  man  he  be. 
King.   Find  him,  and  bring  him  hither. 

\Exit  an  Attendant 
Ber.  What  of  him  ? 

He  's  quoted  for  a  most  perfidious  slave, 
With  all  the  spots  o'  the  world  tax'd  and  debosh'd ; 
Whose  nature  sickens  but  to  speak  a  truth. 
Am  I  or  that  or  this  for  what  he  'II  utter, 
That  will  speak  any  thing  ? 

King.  She  hath  that  ring  of  yours. 

Ber.   I  think  she  has  :  certain  it  is  I  liked  her,     210 
And  boarded  her  i'  the  wanton  way  of  youth  : 
She  knew  her  distance  and  did  angle  for  me. 
Madding  my  eagerness  with  her  restraint. 
As  all  impediments  in  fancy's  course 

195.     'tis    it.       Ff    'tis    hit.  of  it  is   then  awkward  after  it 

This    can    be    defended    in    the  has  been   used  of  the    ring   (v. 

sense    'rightly  aimed,"    'struck  194). 

home '  ;  but  the  impersonal  use  205.   quoted,  noted. 

222 


sc.  Ill     All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Are  motives  of  more  fancy  ;  and,  in  fine, 
Her  infinite  cunning,  with  her  modern  grace, 
Subdued  me  to  her  rate  :  she  got  the  ring; 
And  I  had  that  which  any  inferior  might 
At  market-price  have  bought. 

Dia.  I  must  be  patient : 

You,  that  have  turn'd  off  a  first  so  noble  wife,  220 

May  justly  diet  me.     I  pray  you  yet ; 
Since  you  lack  virtue,  I  will  lose  a  husband ; 
Send  for  your  ring,  I  will  return  it  home, 
And  give  me  mine  again. 

Ber.  I  have  it  not. 

King.  What  ring  was  yours,  I  pray  you  ? 

Dia.  Sir,  much  like 

The  same  upon  your  finger. 

Ki?ig.   Know  you  this  ring?   this  ring  was  his 
of  late. 

Dia.  And  this  was  it  I  gave  him,  being  abed. 

King.  The  story  then  goes  false,  you  threw  it 
him 
Out  of  a  casement, 

Dia.  I  have  spoke  the  truth.  230 

Enter  Parolles. 

Ber.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  the  ring  was  hers. 
King.     You    boggle    shrewdly,    every    feather 
starts  you. 
Is  this  the  man  you  speak  of? 

Dia.  Ay,  my  lord. 

215.  motives,  occasions.  can  only  mean  that  Diana  has 
,       ,         .        .               .  the  charm  of  a  prevailing,  i.e. 

216.  Her  infinite  cunning.  fashionable,  type  of  beauty.  But 
Walker  s  emendation  for  Ff  her  ^^^  p^j^^  j^^  ^^  j^e  contrary, 
insuite  commtng.  ^^^^  3j^g  j^  ^^^^    ^^^    therefore 

216.   modern.      This  word  in      precious.       The  most   probable 
Shakespeare  always  means  'ordi-      emendation  is  modest. 
nary.'     If  it  is  right,    Bertram  232.   shrewdly,  grievously. 

223 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well     act  v 

King.    Tell    me,   sirrah,    but    tell    me    true,    I 
charge  you. 
Not  fearing  the  displeasure  of  your  master, 
Which  on  your  just  proceeding  I  '11  keep  off. 
By  him  and  by  this  woman  here  what  know  you  ? 

Par.  So  please  your  majesty,  my  master  hath 
been  an  honourable  gentleman  :  tricks  he  hath 
had  in  him,  which  gentlemen  have.  240 

Kifig.  Come,  come,  to  the  purpose :  did  he 
love  this  woman  ? 

Par.   Faiih,  sir,  he  did  love  her ;  but  how  ? 

King.   How,  I  pray  you  ? 

Par.  He  did  love  her,  sir,  as  a  gentleman 
loves  a  woman. 

King.   How  is  that? 

Par.  He  loved  her,  sir,  and  loved  her  not. 

King.  As  thou  art  a  knave,  and  no  knave. 
What  an  equivocal  companion  is  this  !  230 

Par.  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  at  your  majesty's 
command. 

Laf.  He's  a  good  drum,  my  lord,  but  a 
naughty  orator. 

Dia.   Do  you  know  he  promised  me  marriage  ? 

Par.   Faith,  I  know  more  than  I  '11  speak. 

King.   But  wilt  thou  not  speak  all  thou  knowest  ? 

Par.  Yes,  so  please  your  majesty.  I  did  go 
between  them,  as  I  said  ;  but  more  than  that,  he 
loved  her  :  for  indeed  he  was  mad  for  her,  and  260 
talked  of  Satan  and  of  Limbo  and  of  Furies  and 
I  know  not  what :  yet  I  was  in  that  credit  with 
them  at  that  time  that  I  knew  of  their  going  to 
bed,  and  of  other  motions,  as  promising  her  mar- 
riage, and  things  which  would  derive  me  ill  will 
to  speak  of;  therefore  I  will  not  speak  what  I 
know. 

King.    Thou    hast    spoken    all    already,   unless 

224 


SC.  Ill 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 


thou  canst  say  they  are  married  :  but  thou  art  too 
fine  in  thy  evidence ;  therefore  stand  aside.  270 

This  ring,  you  say,  was  yours  ? 

Dia.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King.  Where  did  you  buy  it?   or  \Yho  gave  it 
you? 

Dia.   It  was  not  given  me,  nor  I  did  not  buy  it. 

King.  Who  lent  it  you  ? 

Dia.  It  was  not  lent  me  neither. 

King,  Where  did  you  find  it,  then  ? 

Dia.  I  found  it  not. 

King.   If  it  v.^ere  yours  by  none  of  all  these  ways, 
How  could  you  give  it  him  ? 

Dia.  I  never  gave  it  him. 

Laf.  This  woman 's  an  easy  glove,  my  lord  ;  she 
goes  off  and  on  at  pleasure. 

King.  This  ring  was  mine ;   I  gave  it  his  first 
wife.  280 

Dia.    It    might    be    yours   or    hers,    for   aught 
I  know. 

King.  Take  her  away ;  I  do  not  like  her  now ; 
To  prison  witli  her  :  and  away  with  him. 
Unless  thou  tell'st  me  where  thou  hadst  this  ring. 
Thou  diest  within  this  hour. 

Dia  I  '11  never  tell  you. 

King.  Take  her  away. 

Dia.  I  '11  put  in  bail,  my  liege. 

King.   I  think  thee  now  some  common  customer. 

Dia.  By  Jove,  if  ever  I  knew  man,  'twas  you. 

King.    Wherefore   hast    thou   accused   him   all 
this  while  ? 

Dia.   Because  he 's  guilty,  and  he  is  not  guilty  :  ago 
He  knows  I.  am  no  maid,  and  he  '11  swear  to  't ; 
I  '11  swear  I  am  a  maid,  and  he  knows  not. 
Great  king,  I  am  no  strumpet,  by  my  hfe ; 
I  am  either  maid,  or  else  this  old  man's  wife. 

VOL.  Ill  225  Q 


All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well    act  v 

King.  She  does  abuse  our  ears  :   to  prison  with 
her. 

Dia.   Good  mother,  fetch  my  bail.      Stay,  royal 
sir  :  \Exit  Widow. 

The  jeweller  that  owes  the  ring  is  sent  for, 
And  he  shall  surety  me.      But  for  this  lord. 
Who  hath  abused  me,  as  he  knows  himself, 
Though  yet  he  never  harm'd  me,  here  I  quit  him  :  300 
He  knows  himself  my  bed  he  hath  defiled  ; 
And  at  that  time  he  got  his  wife  with  child : 
Dead  though  she  be,  she  feels  her  young  one  kick  : 
So  there  's  my  riddle  :   one  that 's  dead  is  quick  : 
And  now  behold  the  meaning. 

Re-enter  Widow,  ivith  Helena. 

Ki77g.  Is  there  no  exorcist 

Beguiles  the  truer  office  of  mine  eyes  ? 
Is 't  real  that  I  see  ? 

Hel.  No,  my  good  lord ; 

'Tis  but  the  shadow  of  a  wife  you  see, 
The  name  and  not  the  thing. 

Ber.  Both,  both.     O,  pardon  ! 

Hel.    O   my  good  lord,  when  I  was  like  this 
maid,  310 

I  found  you  wondrous  kind.     There  is  your  ring ; 
And,  look  you,  here  's  your  letter  ;  this  it  says  : 
'  When  from  my  finger  you  can  get  this  ring 
And  are  by  me  with  child,'  &c.     This  is  done  : 
Will  you  be  mine,  now  you  are  doubly  won  ? 

Ber.    If  she,  my  liege,  can  make  me  know  this 
clearly, 
I  '11  love  her  dearly,  ever,  ever  dearly. 

Hel.   If  it  appear  not  plain  and  prove  untrue, 
Deadly  divorce  step  between  me  and  you  ! 
O  my  dear  mother,  do  I  see  you  living  ?  3*0 

226 


sc.  Ill    All 's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Laf.    Mine  eyes  smell  onions ;    I   shall   weep 
anon : 

\To  FaroIIes]  Good  Tom  Drum,  lend  me  a  hand- 
kerchief: so, 

I  thank  thee  :  wait  on  me  home,  I  '11  make  sport 
with  thee  : 

Let  thy  courtesies  alone,  they  are  scurvy  ones. 
Ki/tg.  Let   us   from   point   to   point   this   story 
know, 

To  make  the  even  truth  in  pleasure  flow. 

\To  Diand\    If  thou  be'st  yet  a  fresh  uncropped 
flower, 

Choose  thou  thy  husband,  and  I  '11  pay  thy  dower ; 

For  I  can  guess  that  by  thy  honest  aid 

Thou  kept'st  a  wife  herself,  thyself  a  maid.  330 

Of  that  and  all  the  progress,  more  and  less, 

Resolvedly  more  leisure  shall  express  : 

All  yet  seems  well ;  and  if  it  end  so  meet, 

The  bitter  past,  more  welcome  is  the  sweet. 

\_Flourish. 


EPILOGUE. 

King.  The  king's  a  beggar,   now  the  play  is 
done  : 
All  is  well  ended,  if  this  suit  be  won. 
That  you  express  content ;  which  we  will  pay, 
With  strife  to  please  you,  day  exceeding  day : 
Ours  be  your  patience  then,  and  yours  our  parts ; 
Your  gentle  hands  lend  us,  and  take  our  hearts. 

\E,xeunt.     340 
335.  a  ^f/j^ar,  i.e.  for  applause. 


227 


MEASURE    FOR   MEASURE 


229 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

ViNCENTio,  the  Duke. 

Angelo,  Deputy. 

EscALUS,  an  ancient  Lord. 

CLj\udio,  a  young  gentleman. 

Lucio,  a  fantastic. 

Two  other  gentlemen. 

Provost. 

Thom.as,  ^  .       , . 

Peter,      /  '^"°  ^''^''- 

A  Justice. 

Varrius. 

Elbow,  a  simple  constable. 

Froth,  a  foolish  gentleman. 

PoMPEY,  servant  to  Mistress  Overdone. 

Abhorson,  an  executioner. 

Barnardine,  a  dissolute  prisoner. 

Is.^BELLA,  sister  to  Claudio. 
Mari.-\na,  betrothed  to  Angelo. 
Juliet,  beloved  of  Claudio. 
Francisca,  a  nun. 
Mistress  Overdone,  a  bawd. 

Lords,  Officers,  Citizens,  Boy,  and  Attendants. 
Scene  :    Vienna. 

Duration  of  Time 

The  time  (according  to  Mr.  Daniel's  Analysis,  New  Shake- 
speare Society,  '1^77-79)  consists  of  four  days  : 

Day  I.    L  i. 

A  brief  interval  must  be  supposed  to  intervene. 
,,     2.    II.  2. -IV.  2. 
.,     3-    IV.  2.-4. 
,,     4.    IV.  5.-6.,  V. 


Dramatis  Persona.  This  list  names  of  all  the  Actors '  ;  a 
is  appended  to  the  text  in  the  Justice  and  Varrius  being,  how- 
First  Folio,  under  the  title,  '  The      ever,  omitted. 


230 


INTRODUCTION 

Measure  for  Measure  was  first  published  in  the 
Folio  of  1623,  as  the  fourth  in  order  of  the  Comedies. 
It  was  doubtless  printed  from  the  theatre-cop)^,  and 
abounds  in  perplexed  and  corrupt  passages,  many  of 
which  no  emendation  has  yet  completely  restored. 

External  evidence  of  the  date  of  Aleastire  for 
Measure  is  confined  to  a  palpable  reminiscence  of 
certain  fines  of  act  ii.  sc.  4,  found  in  a  poem  of  1607. 
This  was  the  Myrrha  of  AV.  Barksted,  where  these 
lines  occur : 

And  like  as  when  some  sudden  extasie 

Seizeth  the  nature  of  a  sickUe  man  ; 
"When  he's  discerned  to  swoon,  straight  by  and  by 

Folke  to  his  help  confusedly  have  ran, 
And  seeking  with  their  art  to  fetch  him  back, 

So  many  throng,  that  he  the  ayre  doth  lacke. 

An  entry  often  quoted  in  the  accounts  of  the  Court 
Revels^  mentioning  a  performance  on  26th  December 
1604,  is  now  known  to  be  a  forgery.  But  the  date 
was  well  invented,  for  all  indications  point  to  1603-4 
as  the  year  of  its  composition.  Not  to  dwefi  upon 
possible  allusions  to  the  accession  of  James,  noticed 
at  i.  I.  68 'and  ii.  4,  27,  the  play  is  finked  very  closely 
both  with  Airs  Well  That  Ends  Well  smd.  with  Hamlet 
And  Ha)?! let  Wei's,  undoubtedly  completed  in  1602-3. 
The    grave    strenuousness    of   character   which    dis- 

231 


Measure  for  Measure 

tinsuishes  Helena  from  the  Rosalinds  and  Beatrices 
of  the  preceding  group  of  Comedies  is  carried  a  step 
further  in  the  passionate  intensity  of  Isabel.  In  both, 
an  immense  inner  force  is  normally  concealed  by  a 
reserve  not  at  all  characteristic  of  Shakespearean 
womanhood ;  in  both  it  breaks  out  at  moments  in 
splendours  of  poetry  such  as  Portia  alone  among  the 
women  of  the  Comedies  approaches.  The  device  of 
Mariana  is  clearly  adapted  from  the  story  of  Helena. 
The  affinities  with  Hajulet  lie  less  in  the  characters 
than  in  the  moral  atmosphere.^  Both  plays  are  per- 
vaded by  an  oppressive  consciousness,  new  in  Shake- 
speare, of  the  might  of  evil ;  the  state  of  the  world  is 
something  rotten,  and  those  who  would  better  it  are 
paralysed  by  inner  flaws  of  mind  or  will.  Denmark 
is  out  of  joint,  and  Vienna  a  sink  of  vice ;  the  duke 
and  Hamlet  alike  recognise,  and  alike  seek  to  evade, 
the  reformer's  task.  Hamlet  groans  and  procrasti- 
nates ;  the  duke  quietly  appoints  a  deputy,  and  the 
deputy,  a  saint  among  sinners,  is  made  a  sinner  by 
a  saint.  In  both  Hamlet  and  the  duke,  it  may  be 
added,  different  critics  have  discovered  resemblances 
to  the  bustling  Solomon  who  had,  perhaps,  just  taken 
his  seat  upon  the  English  throne. 

Aleasure  for  Measure  closely  follows  in  outline  the 
plot  of  George  Whetstone's  Promos  and  Cassandra, 
published  in  1578.  The  title  of  this  performance  is 
as  follows  :  '  The  right  excellent  and  famous  Historye  \ 
of  I  Promos  and  Cassandra :  |  divided  into  two 
commical  Discourses.  |  In  the  first  Part  is  shewn,  | 
The  unsufferable  Abuse  of  a  lewd  Magistrate  ;  |  The 

*  Among     many    interesting  let's   dread   of  the    '  something 

detailed  parallels  we  may  note  :  after  death.'      And   Isabel,  like 

Isabel's     indictment     of     man  Hamlet,    has  to   '  repel  the  in- 

'  dressed     in     authority,'     and  sinuation     that     her    righteous 

Hamlet's      'the     insolence     of  anger  is  the  voice  of  madness* 

office';     Claudio's    and    Ham-  (v.  i.  50), 

232 


Introduction 

vertuous  Behaviours  of  a  chaste  Ladye  ;  ]  The  un- 
controuled  Lewdeness  of  a  favoured  CuRTiSAN  :  |  And 
the  undeserved  estimation  of  a  pernicious  Parasyte. 
I  In  the  second  part  is  discoursed,  |  The  perfect 
magnanimity  of  a  noble  King,  |  In  checking  Vice  and 
favouring  Vertue  :  |  Wherein  is  shown  |  The  Ruin 
and  overthrow  of  dishonest  practises  :  |  With  the  ad- 
vancement of  upright  deaUngs.  The  Work  of  George 
Whetstone,  Gent.' 

The  Dedication,  addressed  to  his  kinsman,  the 
Recorder  of  London,  is  one  of  the  earUest  Ehzabethan 
manifestoes  of  dramatic  principles  we  possess.  He  takes 
the  whole  contemporary  drama,  at  home  and  abroad, 
vigorously  to  task.  The  Italian,  French,  and  Spanish 
playwrights  are  too  lascivious;  the  German  '  too  holy ' ; 
the  English  '  most  vain,  indiscreet,  and  out  of  order,' 
ignoring  the  limits  of  place  and  time,  bringing  '  Gods 
from  Heaven  and  Devils  from  Hell,'  and  confusing 
the  distinctions  of  character.  '  Many  times  (to  make 
mirth)  they  make  a  clown  companion  with  a  king; 
in  their  grave  counsels  they  allow  the  advice  of  fools  : 
yea,  they  use  one  order  of  speech  for  all  persons.' 
In  all  these  points  Whetstone's  'work,'  as  he,  like 
Jonson,  characteristically  called  his  play,  for  it  was 
evidently  the  fruit  of  immense  pains,  exhibited  an 
advance.  The  story,  drawn  from  Cinthio's  Hecatom- 
miihi  (Dec.  viii.  Nov.  5)  had  the  best  characteristic 
of  the  Italian  novel :  a  single,  powerful  motive,  worked 
out  within  narrow  limits  of  place  and  time,  and  with- 
out any  resort  to  marvel.^     On  the  other  hand,  the 

1  Cinthio's    novel    seems    to  honour    in    order    to    save    her 

have    been    founded    upon    an  condemned      husband,      whose 

actual     occurrence      of      1547,  execution  nevertheless  proceeds, 

narrated  in  a  letter  from  a  Hun-  She    appeals    to    the    imperial 

garian  student  in  Vienna,  Joseph  governor    of    the    province    of 

Macarius,  to  a  friend  in  Sarvdr.  Milan,  who  causes  the  judge  to 

Here  the  heroine  undergoes  dis-  marry  her,  pay  her  3000  ducats, 

233 


Measure  for  Measure 

characters  were  mere  types,  and  the  plot  was  handled 
with  somewhat  obtuse  moral  mstinct.  Whetstone 
made  little  advance  in  individuality  of  character ;  but 
his  types — '  the  lewd  Magistrate,'  '  the  chaste  lady,' 
and  the  rest — are  drawn  with  much  rude  vigour. 
Corvinus,  king  of  Hungary,  appoints  Promos  his 
deputy  in  the  city  of  Julia,  with  a  special  charge 
*to  scoorge  the  wights,  good  Lawes  that  disobay.' 
Promos  i)roceeds  to  revive  the  law  against  inconti- 
nence, upon  which  Andrugio  (Claudio)  is  imprisoned. 
Andrugio  appeals  to  his  sister,  Cassandra,  who  appeals 
to  Promos  to  be  merciful.  The  language  of  the  scene 
is  sufficiently  rude,  and  in  dramatic  grip  and  nexus  it 
breaks  down  altogether ;  but  the  germs  of  several 
Shakespearean  motives  are  already  discernible  : — 

[She,  krteelifig,  speaks  to  Promos. 
Most  mighty  lord,  and  worthy  judge,  thy  judgement  sharp  abate, 
Vail  thou  thine  ears  to  hear  the  plaint  that  wretched  I  relate, 
Behold  the  woeful  sister  here  of  poor  Andrugio, 
Whom  though  that  law  awardeth  death,  yet  mercy  do  him  show  : 
Weigh  his  young  years,  the  force  of  love,  which  forced  his  amiss, 
Weigh,  weigh  that  marriage  works  amends  for  what  committed  is. 
He  hath  defiled  no  nuptial  bed,  nor  forced  rape  hath  moved  ; 
He  fell  thro'  love,  who  never  meant  but  wive  the  wight  he  loved, 

Protn.   Cassandra,  leave  off  thy  bootless  suit,  by  law  he  hath 
been  tried, 
Law  found  his  fault,  law  judged  him  death. 

Cass.  Yet  this  may  be  replied, 

and  lose  his  head  (translated  in  lady  ;  Whetstone  similarly  saves 

Notes    and   Queries,    29th    July  her  condemiud  brother  ;   Shake- 

1893).       This    is    probably  the  speare  finally  saves  the  lady  her- 

original  of   the    story  found  in  self  from   dishonour.      A   more 

Goulart,     Histoires    admirables  recent  but  not  very  con\incing 

etmimorablesadvenuesde  Nostre  attempt     has     been    made    by 

Temps,    1607.      Successive  nar-  Sarrazin   to    show  that    Shake- 

rators  softened  one   by  one  its  speaie's    duke,    Vinccntio,    was 

tragic    features.      Cinthio  saves  modelled  upon  the  contemporary 

the  tyrannous  judge  from  execu-  duke    of     Mantua,      Vincenzio 

tion  at  the  intercession  of  the  Gonzaga  [Jahrbuch,  xxxi.  165). 

234 


Introduction 

That  lawe  a  miscliiefe  oft  ]'ermits,  to  keep  due  form  of  law, 
That  lawe  small  faults,  with  greatest  dooms,  to  keep  men  still 

in  awe. 
Yet  kings,  or  such  as  execute  regal  authoritie. 
If  mends  be  made  may  overrule  the  force  of  lawe  with  mercie. 
Here  is  no  wylful  murder  wrought,  which  axeth  blood  againe  ; 
Andrugio's  fault  may  valued  be,  Marriage  wipes  out  his  stayne. 

Promos  tei"n{)orises,  then,  at  a  second  interview,  de- 
clares the  price  of  Andrugio's  pardon.  Cassandra 
proceeds  to  inform  her  brother,  who  faces  the  alterna- 
tives like  a  practical  man  : 

Here  are  two  evils,  the  best  hard  to  digest, 
But  where  as  things  are  driven  unto  necessity, 
There  are  we  byd,  of  both  evils  choose  the  least. 
Cass.   And  of  these  evils,  the  least  I  hold  is  death. 

But  Andrugio  urges  the  slander  that  she  would  incur 
by  causing  his  death ;  and  moreover  that  Promos, 
having  once  experienced  her  love,  '  no  doubt  but  he 
to  marriage  will  agree.'  At  this  rather  unfortunately 
chosen  moment  Cassandra  suddenly  discovers  that 
her  honour  is  of  less  account  than  her  brother's  life  : 

And  shall  I  stick  to  stoupe  to  Promos'  will 
Since  my  brother  enjoyeth  life  thereby  ?  .   .   . 
My  Andrugio,  take  comfort  in  distresse, 
Cassandra  is  wonne,  thy  raunsom  great  to  paye, 
Such  care  she  hath,  thy  thraldom  to  release, 
As  she  consentes  her  honor  for  to  slay. 

The  *  ransom  '  is  paid,  but  no  reprieve  arrives.  This, 
however,  is  of  little  moment,  for  Andrugio's  gaoler,  a 
man  of  sensitive  conscience,  has  released  him,  sending 
to  Promos  the  head  of  one  recently  executed  instead 
of  his.  Cassandra  seeks  the  king,  tells  her  story,  and, 
having  told  it,  draws  a  knife  to  end  her  dishonour  in 
the  manner  of  Lucrece.  At  the  king's  entreaty  she 
foregoes  this  resolve,  and  he  prepares  to  call  his 
deputy  to  account.  The  second  part  opens  with  his 
approach.        Promos    appears    before    him    and    is 

235 


Measure  for  Measure 

promptly  condemned  to  lose  his  head,  after  having 
first  married  Cassandra.  But  no  sooner  is  the 
marriage  ceremony  over  than  Cassandra  exchanges 
the  role  of  the  wronged  maiden  for  that  of  the 
devoted  wife,  and  imj;lores  his  pardon.  But  the 
king  is  inflexible,  and  Promos  is  already  at  the 
scaffold  when  the  timely  arrival  of  Andrugio  enables 
the  king  to  remit  the  penalty  '  for  his  wife's  sake.' 

To  the  reader  of  Measure  for  Measure  all  this 
seems  intolerable  bungling.  Whetstone  himself 
evidently  regarded  his  play  with  complacency,  for 
he  reproduced  the  story,  in  Euphuistic  prose,  four 
years  later  in  his  Heptameron.  There  he  made  an 
attempt  to  strengthen  the  action  at  what  was  evi- 
dently its  weakest  point,  the  character  of  Cassandra. 
But  the  task  was  far  beyond  his  powers.  He 
feels  that  the  compliance  of  his  '  chaste  lady ' 
with  Promos'  terms  requires  defence,  but  cannot 
decide  whether  to  excuse  it  as  a  compulsory  sin  or 
to  glorify  it  as  a  noble  sacrifice.  She  is  by  turns 
Lucretia  and  Alcestis : 

If  this  offence  be  known  (quoth  Andrugio)  thy  fame  will  bee 
enlarged,  because  it  will  likewise  be  known  that  thou  receivedst 
dishonor  to  give  thy  brother  life  :  if  it  be  secret,  thy  conscience 
will  be  without  scruple  of  guiltiness.  Thus,  known  or  unknown, 
thou  shalt  be  deflow'red,  but  not  dishonested,  and  for  amends 
we  both  shall  live. 

Hereupon  the  narrator  (Madam  Isabella)  inter- 
poses an  appeal  to  her  audience  :  '  Sovereign  madam, 
and  you  fair  gentlewomen,  I  intreat  you  in  Cassandra's 
behalf,  these  reasons  well  weighed,  to  judge  her  yielding 
a  constraint  and  no  consent.'  This  'judgment'  is 
further  enforced  by  an  express  reference  to  Lucretia, 
whose  *  destiny '  she  seeks  to  emulate. 

What  arrested  Shakespeare  in  this  story  was  clearly 
the  three  great  dramatic  situations,  here  rudely  out- 


Introduction 

lined  : — the  sister  pleading  for  her  brother's  Hfe,  the 
stern  lawgiver  violating  his  own  law,  and  the  brother 
pleading  for  his  life  at  the  cost  of  his  sister's  honour. 
Whetstone  had  spoiled  two  of  these  by  making 
both  Promos  and  Andrugio  plead  with  success, 
and  he  had  only  contrived,  by  a  series  of  violent 
suppositions,  to  bring  the  fortunes  of  brother  and 
sister  to  a  happy  issue.  So  far  as  Claudio's  deliver- 
ance is  concerned,  Shakespeare  improves  somewhat, 
but  not  very  greatly,  upon  his  original.  Instead 
of  the  compassionate  gaoler  who  simply  lets  his 
prisoner  free,  we  have  the  provost  —  an  admirable 
sketch  of  well-meaning  but  cautious  and  disciplined 
officialdom — who  with  difficulty  consents  merely  to 
postpone  his  execution.  Instead  of  the  head  of  an 
execu_{ed  prisoner,  the  counterfeit  of  Claudio  is  derived 
from  '  a  pirate  who  died  this  morning  of  a  cruel  fever ' 
— a  change  which  saves  the  plot  from  an  incongruous 
element  of  tragedy,  but  is  otherwise  of  questionable 
merit.  Cassandra's  fate  called  for  a  more  radical 
change.  Such  a  fall  as  hers  was  absolutely  repugnant 
to  Shakespeare's  art ;  at  no  period  of  his  career  would 
he  have  tolerated  such  an  incident,  on  either  of  the 
hypotheses  between  which  Vvlietstone  so  uneasily 
fluctuates.  But  the  device  by  which  Isabel's  honour 
is  saved  cannot  be  acquitted  of  a  certain  poverty  of 
invention  :  so  supremely  original  a  character  as  Isabel 
deserved  a  better  fate  than  to  play  once  more  a 
played-out  role  from  AH 's  Well.  The  duke  who 
wanders  in  disguise  among  his  people  and  '  like 
power  divine  looks  upon  our  passes,'  has  some  advan- 
tages over  Whetstone's  absentee  prince,  but  prol .-ability 
is  not  one  of  them;  and  his  final  distribution  of  re- 
wards and  punishments  hardly  affects  to  be  plausible. 
Angelo's  pardon  and  Isabel's  marriage  are  concessions 
to  the  conventions    of  a  comic   denotime7it,  lacking 

237 


Measure  for  Pvleasure 

inner  congruity  with  their  character  and  antecedents, 
and  scarcely  true  to  the  promise  of  the  title.^ 
Evidently,  though  Shakespeare  meant  to  supply  his 
company  with  a  comedy,  he  ti-eated  the  conventions 
of  Comedy  merely  with  an  outer  deference. 

The  determining  animus  of  the  wonderful  trans- 
formation which  he  wrought  in  the  story  of  Promos 
and  Cassandra  belongs  to  a  wholly  different  order  of 
ideas  and  experience.  He  had  exhibited  in  Twelfth 
Night  the  comedy  of  an  honest,  borne  man  infatuated 
with  self-esteem ;  in  Julius  Ccesar^  the  tragedy  of  a 
man  of  high  but  narrow  principles  rigidly  applied  to 
a  complex  situation  ;  in  Ha/iilet,  the  tragic  paralysis 
of  a  noble  will  under  the  spell  of  a  restless  imagina- 
tive sensibility.  It  v/as  an  intellect  charged  v/ith  the 
ironic  sense  of  the  disasters  which  await  the.  well- 
meaning  in  a  world  where  only  a  passion  for  goodness 
can  morally  hold  its  ov/n,  that  created  the  virtuous 
precisian  Angelo  out  of  the  *  lewd  tyrant '  Promos,  and 
the  refined  weakling  Claudio  out  of  the  commonplace 
Andrugio  ;  and  that  set  over  against  both  the  sublime 
and  unique  f.gure  of  Isabel. 

Angelo  is  best  understood  when  approached  from 
the  side  on  which  he  is  akin  to  Brutus.  He  is  'a 
precisian  in  power,'  a  man  of  austere  principle,  un- 
tried but  perfectly  sincere.  But  Brutus'  simple  and 
transparent  nature  forges  its  way  through  the  drift  of 
circumstances  unchanged,  provoking  its  own  doom, 
but  undergoing  no  moral  collapse ;  while  Angelo, 
after  his  first  doctrinaire  blunder,  finds  himself  sud- 
denly assailed  at  an  unarmed  point,  and,  with  scarcely 
a  thought,  is  ready  to  surrender  th.e  whole  moral 
capital  laid  up  in  a  blameless  life  as  the  price  of  the 
person  of  Isabel.     The  irony  of  his  career  is  accentu- 

^  The     titlv5     was     probably      axeth  blood '  in  WTietstone  (ed. 
suggested  by  the  phrase  '  Blood      Hazlitt,  p.  227). 

238 


Introduction 

ated  by  the  unseen  presence  at  his  elbow  of  the 
moral  INIephistopheles  who  has  armed  him  with 
power  and  who  awaits  the  destined  hour  to  call 
him  to  account.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  temper 
of  the  play  that  Shakespeare  thus  substituted  for 
Whetstone's  absentee  ruler  this  incredible  but  effective 
Friar. 

Claudio  owes  still  more  than  Angelo  to  Shake- 
speare's refining  art.  He  is  relieved  with  exquisite 
delicacy  against  the  hideous  throng  whose  sin  the 
law  identifies  with  his.  His  first  words  of  keen 
humiliation  instantly  distinguish  him  from  the  brazen 
Lucio.  He  has  the  virtues  and  the  failings  of  the 
impulsive  temperament.  His  imagination  is  as  rich 
as  Isabel's,  but  his  will  takes  the  colour  of  its  changing 
visions.  He  cannot  be  said,  like  xA.ngelo,  to  comply 
with  or  infringe  a  moral  rule  ;  he  rather  abandons 
himself  to  a  stream  of  illuminated  emotions,  tending, 
as  it  may  happen,  to  good  or  ill.  Vrithin  a  few 
sentences  he  is  ready  to  'encounter  darkness  as  a 
bride,'  and  to  shudder  at  the  image  of  the  '  cold 
obstruction  '  and  the  '  kneaded  clod.'  '  Conscience ' 
makes  a  coward  of  him,  —  a  conscience  inflamed 
with  the  vision  of  sensuous  pleasures  and  pains. 

Angelo  and  Claudio  are  failures  in  opposite  schools 
of  life ;  without  much  straining,  we  might  say  that 
they  foreshadow  the  characteristic  weaknesses  of  the 
Puritan  and  of  the  Cavalier.  But,  with  whatever  irony 
Shakespeare  may  have  contemplated  the  pretensions 
of  both  ideals,  so  far  as  they  were  realised  in  his 
time,  the  character  of  Isabel  assures  us  that  a  type 
of  impassioned  holiness  such  as  inspired  the  finest 
embodiments  of  both,  yet  more  akin  on  the  whole 
to  the  austere  and  imperious  holiness  of  Puritanism, 
appealed  powerfully  to  Shakespeare  when  he  wrote. 
In  moral  intensity,  and  also  in  her  total  absence  of 

239 


Measure  for  Measure 

humour,  she  is  rather  Miltonic  than  Shakespearean — 
Miltonic  in  the  gracious  way  of  the  lady  in  Coaius, 
save  that  she  has  the  higher  grace  of  a  chastity  which 
she  is  ready  to  die  for,  but  which  it  does  not  occur 
to  her  to  celebrate.  Her  obvious  affinities  with 
Portia  make  the  contrast  more  glaring.  Like  Portia, 
she  intervenes  to  check  legal  crime ;  but  Portia's  plea 
for  mercy  cannot  compare  in  ethical  grip  any  more 
than  in  tragic  intensity  with  hers.  Portia's  is  an 
eloquent  exposition  of  the  beauty  of  well-doing; 
Isabel's  is  penetrated  to  the  core  with  distrust  of 
human  nature,  when  armed  with  the  demoralising 
engine  of  power.  Put  forth  in  the  first  years  of  the 
momentous  seventeenth  century,  this  great  though 
dramatically  unequal  play  is  full  of  prophetic  intima- 
tions :  the  scathing  ridicule  of  t}  rants  may  be  put 
beside  the  courtly  compliments,  in  the  first  scene,  to 
a  popular  king.  The  temper  of  stern  recognition  of 
the  heights  and  depths  of  good  and  evil  pervades  it ; 
and  through  the  web  of  ethical  seriousness  there 
runs  a  thread  of  that  brooding  intellectual  curiosity 
apparent  in  the  whole  Hamlet  period,  the  zest  for 
probing  the  secrets  of  human  nature,  and  finding 
'what  these  seemers  be';  for  analysing  character 
(whence  the  countless  books  of  '  Characters '  from 
Jonson's  Every  Man  out  of  His  Humour  downwards) ; 
for  beating  at  the  gates  of  the  unknown,  and  urging 
a  charioted  imagination  to  flights  in  the  mystery 
beyond. 


240 


MEASURE   FOR  MEASURE 


ACT  I. 

Scene  L     An  apartment  in  the  Duke's  palace. 

Enter  Duke,  Escalus,  Lords  and  Attendants. 

Duke.    Escalus. 

Escal.   My  lord. 

Duke.  Of  government  the  properties  to  unfold, 
Would  seem  in  me  to  affect  speech  and  discourse; 
Since  I  am  put  to  know  that  your  own  science 
Exceeds,  in  that,  the  lists  of  all  advice 
My  strength  can  give  you  :  then  no  more  remains, 

But  that  to  your  sufficiency 

as  your  worth  is  able. 

And  let  them  work.     The  nature  of  our  people,        lo 

Our  city's  institutions,  and  the  terms 

For  common  justice,  you  're  as  pregnant  in 

6.  lists,  limits.  the  text.  Tyrwhitt's 
8,  Tiiis  passage  is  clearly  But  that  to  j^our  sufficiency  you  put 
corrupt.  The  Folio  reads  But  A  zeal  as  willing  as  your  worth  is  able, 
that .  .  .  able  without  a  break.  perhaps  approaches  Shake- 
Several  vv'ords  are  apparently  speare's  thought,  though  it 
wanting.  Innumerable  conjee-  certainly  misses  his  expression, 
tures  are  recorded  by  the  editors  ii.  terms  for  common  justice, 
of  the  Cambridge  Shakespeare,  technical  terms  of  law. 
who  first   indicated  a  blank  in  12.  pregnant,  ready. 

VOL.  Ill  241  R 


Measure  for  Measure  act  i 

As  art  and  practice  hath  enriched  any 

That  we  remember.      There  is  our  commission, 

From  which  we  would  not  have  you  warp.      Call 

hither, 
I  say,  bid  come  before  us  Angelo. 

[Exi^  an  AtteJidant. 
What  figure  of  us  think  you  he  will  bear? 
For  you  must  know,  we  have  with  special  soul 
Elected  him  our  absence  to  supply, 
Lent  him  our  terror,  dress'd  him  with  our  love,  so 

And  given  his  deputation  all  the  organs 
Of  our  own  pov/er  :  what  think  you  of  it  ? 

Escal.  ^any  in  Vienna  be  of  worth 
To  undergo  such  ample  grace  and  honour. 
It  is  Lord  Angelo. 

Duke.  Look  where  he  comes. 

E7iter  Angelo. 

Ang.   Always  obedient  to  your  grace's  will, 
I  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Duke.  Angelo, 

There  is  a  kind  of  character  in  thy  life, 
That  to  the  observer  doth  thy  history 
Fully  unfold.      Thyself  and  thy  belongings  30 

Are  not  thine  own  so  proper  as  to  waste 
Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  they  on  thee. 
Heaven  doth  with  us  as  we  with  torches  do. 
Not  light  them  for  themselves  ;  for  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 
_As_jf_  we_  had  them  not.     Spirits  are  not   finely 

touch'd 
But  to  fine  issues,  nor  Nature  never  lends 
The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence 

18.    with   special  soul,    with      deputy,  deputyship, 
peculiar  good-will. 

21.      deputation,      office      of  30.   belongings,  gifts. 

242 


SC.  I 


Measure  for  Measure 


But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she  determines 

Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor,  40 

Both  thanks  and  use.      But  I  do  bend  my^peech 

To  one  that  can  my  part  in  him  advertise  ;  ' 

Hold  therefore,  Angelo  : — 

In  our  remove  be  thou  at  full  ourself ; 

Mortality  and  mercy  in  Vienna 

Live  in  thy  tongue  and  heart :  old  Escalus, 

Though  first  in  question,  is  thy  secondary. 

Take  thy  commission. 

Ang.  Now,  good  my  lord, 

Let  there  be  some  more  test  made  of  my  metal, 
Before  so  noble  and  so  great  a  figure  50 

Be  stamp'd  upon  it. 

Duke.  No  more  evasion  : 

We  have  with  a  leaven'd  and  prepared  choice 
Proceeded  to  you  :  therefore  take  your  honours. 
Our  haste  from  hence  is  of  so  quick  condition 
That  it  prefers  itself  and  leaves  unqijestion'd 
Matters  of  needful  value.     We  shall  write  to  you, 
As  time  and  our  concernings  shall  importune, 
How  it  goes  with  us,  and  do  look  to  know 
What  doth  befall  you  here.      So,  fare  you  well : 
To  the  hopeful  execution  do  I  leave  you  60 

Of  your  commissfons. 

Ang.  Yet  give  leave,  my  lord. 

That  we  may  bring  you  something  on  the  way. 

Duke.   My  haste  may  not  admit  it ; 
Nor  need  you,  on  mine  honour,  have  to  do 

41.  use,  interest.  at    v.    48,    places    in    Angelo's 

42.  one  that  can  my  part  in      hands. 

him  advertise,  one  so  superior  44.   remove,  absence, 

to  me  that  he  is  capable  of  in-  47.   question,  consideration, 

structing    that    in    him     which  52.    leaven'd,  ripened, 

assumes  my  office.  55.  prefers  itself,   thrusts   all 

43.  Hold  therefore,   Angelo.  other    claims     into    the    back- 
The    duke    here    presents    the  ground. 

commission,    which    he    finally,  55.  unqiiestiond,  unexamined. 

243 


Measure  for  Measure  acti 

With  any  scruple  ;  your  scope  is  as  mine  own, 

So  to  enforce  or  qualify  the  laws 

As  to  your  soul  seems  good.     Give  me  your  hand  : 

I  '11  privily  away.      I  love  the  people, 

But  do  not  like  to  stage  me  to  their  eyes : 

Though  it  do  well,  I  do  not  relish  well  70 

Their  loud  applause  and  Aves  vehement ; 

Nor  do  I  think  the  man  of  safe  discretion 

That  does  affect  it.     Once  more,  fare  you  well. 

Ang.  The  heavens  give  safety  to  your  purposes  ! 

Escal.    Lead  forth  and  bring  you  back  in  happi- 
ness ! 

Duke.   I  thank  you.      Fare  you  well.  [Exit 

Escal.   I  shall  desire  you,  sir,  to  give  me  leave 
To  have  free  speech  with  you ;    and  it  concerns 

me 
To  look  into  the  bottom  of  my  place  : 
A  power  I  have,  but  of  what  strength  and  nature      8« 
I  am  not  yet  instructed. 

Ang.   Tis   so  with   me.      Let   us   withdraw   to- 
gether, 
And  we  may  soon  our  satisfaction  have 
Touching  that  point. 

Escal,  I  '11  wait  upon  your  honour.        \Exeunt. 


Scene  IL     A  street. 

Enter  Lucio  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Lucio.  If  the  duke  with  the  other  dukes  come 
not  to  composition  with  the  King  of  Hungary, 
why  then  all  the  dukes  fall  upon  the  king. 

68-71.  This  passage  has  been  stately  and  ungracious  demean- 
conjectured  to  offer  '  a  courtly  our  on  his  entry  into  Eng- 
apology   for    King    James    I.'s      land.' 

244 


sc.  II  Measure  for  Measure 

First  Gent.  Heaven  grant  us  its  peace,  but  not 
the  King  of  Hungary's  ! 

Sec.  Gent.  Amen. 

Lucio.  Thou  concludest  like  the  sanctimonious 
pirate,  that  went  to  sea  with  the  Ten  Command- 
ments, but  scraped  one  out  of  the  table. 

Sec.  Gent.  *  Thou  shalt  not  steal '  ?  lo 

Lucio.   Ay,  that  he  razed. 

First  Gent.  Why,  'twas  a  commandment  to 
command  the  captain  and  all  the  rest  from  their 
functions:  they  put  forth  to  steal.  There's  not  a 
soldier  of  us  all,  that,  in  the  thanksgiving  before 
meat,  do  relish  the  petition  well  that  prays  for 
peace. 

Sec.  Gent.   I  never  heard  any  soldier  dislike  it. 

Lucio.  I  believe  thee  ;  for  I  think  thou  never 
wast  where  grace  was  said.  20 

Sec.  Gent.  No  ?  a  dozen  times  at  least. 

First.  Gent.   A^'hat,  in  metre  ? 

Lucio.   In  any  proportion  or  in  any  language. 

First  Gent.    I  think,  or  in  any  religion. 

Lucio.  Ay,  why  not  ?  Grace  is  grace,  despite 
of  all  controversy  :  as,  for  example,  thou  thyself 
art  a  wicked  villain,  despite  of  all  grace. 

First  Gent.  Well,  there  went  but  a  pair  of 
shears  between  us. 

Lucio.   I    grant ;    as    there    may    between    the    30 
lists  and  the  velvet.     Thou  art  the  list. 

First  Gent.  And  thou  the  velvet :  thou  art 
good  velvet ;  thou  'rt  a  three-piled  piece,  I  war- 
rant thee :  I  had  as  lief  be  a  list  of  an  English 
kersey  as  be  piled,  as  thou  art  piled,  for  a  French 
velvet.     Do  I  speak  feelingly  now? 

23.  proportion,  measure.  35.  piled,  a  quibble  between 

28.   there  went  but  a  pair  of  piled,     applied    to    velvet,    and 

shears  between  us,  i.e.  we  a.rQ  cut  pilled,    or  hairless  as  a   conse- 

out  of  the  same  cloth.  quence  of  the  French  disease. 

245 


Measure  for  Measure  act  i 

Lucio.  I  think  thou  dost ;  and,  indeed,  with 
most  painful  feeling  of  thy  speech  :  I  will,  out  of 
thine  own  confession,  learn  to  begin  thy  health ; 
but,  whilst  I  live,  forget  to  drink  after  thee.  40 

First  Gent.  I  think  I  have  done  myself  wrong, 
have  I  not  ? 

Sec.  Gent.  Yes,  that  thou  hast,  whether  thou 
art  tainted  or  free.  , 

Lucio.  Behold,  behold,  where  Madam  Mitiga- 
tion comes  !  I  have  purchased  as  many  diseases 
under  her  roof  as  come  to — 

Sec.  Gent.  To  what,  I  pray? 

Lucio.  Judge. 

Sec.  Gent.   To  three  thousand  dolours  a  year.         50 

First  Gent.   Ay,  and  more. 

Lucio.  A  French  crown  more. 

First  Gent.  Thou  art  always  figuring  diseases 
in  me  ;  but  thou  art  full  of  error  ;  I  am  sound. 

Lucio.  Nay,  not  as  one  would  say,  healthy ; 
but  so  sound  as  things  that  are  hollow :  thy  bones 
are  hollow ;  impiety  has  made  a  feast  of  thee. 

Enter  Mistress  Overdone. 

First  Gent.  How  now  !  which  of  your  hips  has 
the  most  profound  sciatica? 

Mrs.  Ov.  Well,  well ;  there's  one  yonder  arrested  60 
and  carried  to  prison  was  worth  five  thousand  of 
you  all. 

Sec.  Gent.  Who  's  that,  I  pray  thee  ? 

Mrs.  Ov.  Marry,  sir,  that 's  Claudio,  Signior 
Claudio. 

First  Gent.   Claudio  to  prison  ?  'tis  not  so. 

Mrs.  Ov.  Nay,  but  I  know  'tis  so  :  I  saw  him 

52.    French    crown,    a    bald  56.  sound,  sounding  (with  a 

head.  quibble). 

246 


SC.   II 


Measure  for  Measure 


arrested,  saw  him  carried  away ;  and,  which  is 
more,  within  these  three  days  his  head  to  be 
chopped  off.  70 

Liicio.  But,  after  all  this  fooling,  I  would  not 
have  it  so.     Art  thou  sure  of  this  ? 

Mrs.  Or.  I  am  too  sure  of  it :  and  it  is  for  get- 
ting Madam  Julietta  with  child. 

Lucio.  Believe  me,  this  may  be  :  he  promised 
to  meet  me  two  hours  since,  and  he  was  ever  pre- 
cise in  promise-keeping. 

Sec.  Gent.  Besides,  you  know,  it  draws  some- 
thing near  to  the  speech  we  had  to  such  a  purpose. 

First  Gent.  But,    most    of   all,    agreeing    with   80 
the  proclamation. 

Lucio.  Away  !  let 's  go  learn  the  truth  of  it. 

\Exeu7it  Lucio  and  Gentlemen. 

Mrs.  Ov.  Thus,  what  with  the  war,  what  with 
the  sweat,  what  with  the  gallows  and  what  with 
poverty,  I  am  custom-shrunk. 

Enter  Pompey. 

How  now  !  what 's  the  news  with  you  ? 

Foni.   Yonder  man  is  carried  to  prison. 

Mrs.  Ov.  Well ;  what  has  he  done  ? 

Fojn.  A  woman. 

Mrs.  Ov.   But  what 's  his  offence  ?  90 

Fojn.   Groping  for  trouts  in  a  peculiar  river. 

Airs.  Ov.  What,  is  there  a  maid  with  child  by 
him  ? 

Fom.  No,  but  there  's  a  woman  with  maid  by 
him.  You  have  not  heard  of  the  proclamation, 
have  you  ? 

Mrs.  Qv.   What  proclamation,  man  ? 

Fom.  All  houses  in  the  suburbs  of  Vienna 
must  be  plucked  down. 

84.   sweat,  the  '  sweating-sickness.' 
247 


Measure  for  Measure  act  i 

Mrs.  Ov.  And  what  shall  become  of  those  in  loo 
the  city? 

Pom.   They  shall  stand  for  seed  :  they  had  gone 
down  too,  but  that  a  wise  burgher  put  in  for  them. 

Mrs.  Ov,   But  shall  all  our  houses  of  resort  in 
the  suburbs  be  pulled  down  ? 

Pom.  To  the  ground,  mistress. 

Mrs.  Ov.   Why,  here 's  a  change  indeed  in  the 
commonwealth  !     What  shall  become  of  me  ? 

Pom.  Come ;  fear  not  you :  good  counsellors 
lack  no  clients  :  though  you  change  your  place,  no 
you  need  not  change  your  trade ;  I  '11  be  your 
tapster  still.  Courage  !  there  will  be  pity  taken 
on  you  :  you  that  have  worn  your  eyes  almost  out 
in  the  service,  you  will  be  considered. 

Mrs.  Ov.  What 's  to  do  here,  Thomas  tapster  ? 
let's  withdraw. 

Pom.   Here  comes  Signior  Claudio,  led  by  the 
provost  to  prison  ;  and  there  's  Madam  Juliet. 

\Exeunt. 

Filter  Provost,  Claudio,  Juliet,  atid  Officers. 

Claud.   Fellow,  why  dost  thou  show  me  thus  to 
the  world  ?  120 

Bear  me  to  prison,  where  I  am  committed. 

Prov.   I  do  it  not  in  evil  disposition, 
But  from  Lord  Angelo  by  special  charge. 

Claud.   Thus  can  the  demigod  Authority 
Make  us  pay  down  for  our  offence  by  weight 
The  words  of  heaven  ;  on  whom  it  will,  it  will ; 
On  whom  it  will  not,  so ;  yet  still  'tis  just. 

126.   The  words  of  heaven.    A  mercy.  .   .  .   Therefore  hath  he 

reference    to  St.    Paul's  Epistle  mercy  on  whom   he    will    have 

to   the   Romans  ix.  15  and  18,  mercy,    and    whom    he  will   he 

'For  he  saith  to  Moses,  I  will  hardeneth." 
have  mercy  on  whom  I  will  have 

248 


SC,  II 


Measure  for  Measure 


Re-enter  Lucio  and  two  Gentlemen, 

Lucio.  Why,  how  now,  Claudio  !  whence  comes 
this  restrauit  ? 

Claud.  From  too  much  liberty,  my  Lucio,  liberty:    ,..• 
As  surfeit  is  the  father  of  much  fast,  130 

So  every  scope  by  the  immoderate  use 
Turns  to  restraint.     Our  natures  do  pursue, 
Like  rats  that  ravin  down  their  proper  bane, 
A  thirsty  evil ;  and  when  we  drink  we  die. 

Lucio.  If  I  could  speak  so  wisely  under  an 
arrest,  I  would  send  for  certain  of  my  creditors  : 
and  yet,  to  say  the  truth,  I  had  as  lief  have  the 
foppery  of  freedom  as  the  morality  of  imprison- 
ment.    What 's  thy  offence,  Claudio  ? 

Claud.  What  but  to  speak  of  would  offend  again.  140 

Lucio.  What,  is  't  murder  ? 

Claud.   No. 

Lucio.   Lechery  ? 

Claud.   Call  it  so. 

Prov.   Away,  sir  !  you  must  go. 

Claud.  One  word,  good  friend.     Lucio,  a  word 
with  you. 

Lucio.   A  hundred,  if  they  '11  do  you  any  good. 
Is  lechery  so  look'd  after  ? 

Claud.  Thus  stands  it  with  me  :  upon  a  true 
contract 
I  got  possession  of  Julietta's  bed :  150 

You  know  the  lady ;  she  is  fast  my  wife, 
Save  that  we  do  the  denunciation  lack 
Of  outward  order  :  this  we  came  not  to, 
Only  for  propagation  of  a  dower 

138.  foppery,  folly.  154.  propagation,  increase  by 

ib.     moraiity ;      Davenant's  remaining    at    interest.       It    is 

correction  for  Ff  mortality.  probably  meant    that   Julietta's 

152.    the  denunciation  of  out-  relatives  chose  to  postpone  her 

ward  order,  the  formal  declara-  marriage  in  order  to  continue  to 

tion  required  by  law.  receive  the  interest  on  her  dower. 

249 


Measure  for  Measure  acti 

Remaining  in  the  coffer  of  her  friends, 
From  whom  we  thought  it  meet  to  hide  our  love 
Till  time  had  made  them  for  us.      But  it  chances 
The  stealth  of  our  most  mutual  entertainment 
With  character  too  gross  is  writ  on  Juliet, 

Lucio.  With  child,  perhaps  ? 

Claud.  Unhappily,  even  so.    160 

And  the  new  deputy  now  for  the  duke — 
Whether  it  be  the  fault  and  glimpse  of  newness, 
Or  whether  that  the  body  public  be 
A  horse  whereon  the  governor  doth  ride, 
Who,  newly  in  the  seat,  that  it  may  know 
He  can  command,  lets  it  straight  feel  the  spur; 
Whether  the  tyranny  be  in  his  place, 
Or  in  his  eminence  that  fills  it  up, 
I  stagger  in  : — but  this  new  governor 
Awakes  me  all  the  enrolled  penalties  170 

Which  have,  like  unscour'd  armour,  hung  by  the 

wall 
So  long  that  nineteen  zodiacs  have  gone  round 
And  none  of  them  been  worn  ;  and,  for  a  name, 
Now  puts  the  drowsy  and  neglected  act 
Freshly  on  me :   'tis  surely  for  a  name. 

Lucio.  I  warrant  it  is  :  and  thy  head  stands  so 
tickle  on  thy  shoulders  that  a  milkmaid,  if  she  be 
in  love,  may  sigh  it  off.  Send  after  the  duke  and 
appeal  to  him. 

Claud.    I    have   done   so,  but   he's   not  to  be 
found.  »8o 

I  prithee,  Lucio,  do  me  this  kind  service : 
This  day  my  sister  should  the  cloister  enter 

162.    the  fault  and  glimpse  Hani.  i.  4.  53. 
of  newness,  the  imperfect  vision  169.     stagger,    reel    in   judg- 

due  to  novelty.     The  illusion  of  ment,  waver. 
'  newness '    is    conceived    as    a  173.  for  a  name,  nominally, 

kind  of  half-light.    Cf.  '  Revisit'st  for  form's  sake, 
thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon,"  177.   tickle,  loose,  unsteady. 

250 


SC.  Ill 


Measure  for  Measure 


And  there  receive  her  approbation  : 
Acquaint  her  with  the  danger  of  my  state  : 
Implore  her,  in  my  voice,  that  she  make  friends 
To  the  strict  deputy  ;  bid  herself  assay  him  : 
I  have  great  hope  in  that ;  for  in  her  youth 
There  is  a  prone  and  speechless  dialect. 
Such  as  move  men;  beside,  she  hath  prosperous  art 
When  she  will  play  with  reason  and  discourse,         190 
And  well  she  can  persuade. 

Liicio.  I  pray  she  may ;  as  well  for  the  en- 
couragement of  the  hke,  which  else  would  stand 
under  grievous  imposition,  as  for  the  enjoying  of 
thy  life,  who  I  would  be  sorry  should  be  thus 
foolishly  lost  at  a  game  of  tick-tack.      I  '11  to  her. 

Clazid.   I  thank  you,  good  friend  Lucio. 

Liicio.  Within  two  hours, 

Claud.  Come,  officer,  away  ! 

\Exeunt, 


Scene  III.     A  monastery. 

Enter  Duke  a7id  Friar  Thomas. 

Duke.  No,  holy  father;  throw  away  that  thought ; 
Believe  not  that  the  dribbling  dart  of  love 
Can  pierce  a  complete  bosom.     Why  I  desire  thee 
To  give  me  secret  harbour,  hath  a  purpose 

183.   receive  her  approbation ,      perly  backgammon  ;    here  used 
be  approved  as  a  novice  of  the      equivocally. 

_  ■        ^  J       ^      ,  ,  2.   dribbling,  a  technical  term 

188.      prone     and     speechless  .  ,  r 

J.   ,    .    /  r         .  J  in    archerv    for    an    arrow    too 

dialect,  lang-uase  of  mute  and  ,  ,      , '     ^  i.   .1  i 

,  r,  J  weaklv  shot  to  reach  the  mark. 

eacfer  entreatv.      Prone  is  used  ^-j      '  i     i     i       j  i-  j   ..u 

.f,  -   .  f  •.     T    ••  Sidney  had  already  applied  the 

with  a  sugsrastion   of  its   Latin  .         '       ,  j     t-t- 

^     ^^  .        ,     .u  ima^e  to  Love  : — 

sense,   to   convey  not    only  the  ^ 

ardour  but  the  eager  bending-      Not  at  first  sight  nor  with  a  dribbling 
forward  of  an  earnest  suppliant.       Love  g°ave  the  wound. 

196.    game  of  tick-tack,  pro-  Astr.  and  Stella,  z\\..  Ca\X\ti. 


Measure  for  Measure      ,    act  i 

More  grave  and  wrinkled  than  the  aims  and  ends 
Of  burning  youth. 

Fri.  T.  INIay  your  grace  speak  of  it  ? 

Duke.   My  holy  sir,  none  better  knows  than  you 
How  I  have  ever  loved  the  life  removed, 
And  held  in  idle  price  to  haunt  assemblies 
Where  youth,  and  cost,  and  witless  bravery  keeps.    :o 
I  have  deliver'd  to  Lord  Angelo, 
A  man  of  stricture  and  firm  abstinence, 
My  absolute  power  and  place  here  in  Vienna, 
And  he  supposes  me  travell'd  to  Poland ; 
For  so  I  have  strew'd  it  in  the  common  ear, 
And  so  it  is  received.      Now,  pious  sir, 
You  will  demand  of  me  why  I  do  this  ? 

Fri.  T.  Gladly,  my  lord. 

Duke.  We  have  strict  statutes  and  most  biting 
laws, 
The  needful  bits  and  curbs  to  headstrong  weeds,      20 
Which  for  this  nineteen  years  we  have  let  slip ; 
Even  like  an  o'ergrown  lion  in  a  cave, 
That  goes  not  out  to  prey.     Now,  as  fond  fathers, 
Having  bound  up  the  threatening  twigs  of  birch. 
Only  to  stick  it  in  their  children's  sight 
For  terror,  not  to  use,  in  time  the  rod 
Becomes  more  mock'd  than  fear'd  ;  so  our  decrees, 
Dead  to  infliction,  to  themselves  are  dead ; 
And  liberty  plucks  justice  by  the  nose  ; 
The  baby  beats  the  nurse,  and  quite  athwart  3° 

Goes  all  decorum. 

Fri.  T.  It  rested  in  your  grace 

To  unloose  this  tied-up  justice  when  you  pleased  : 
And  it  in  you  more  dreadful  would  have  seem'd 
Than  in  Lord  Angelo. 

JO.   keeps,  dwell.  still  applied  to  an  ill-conditioned 

horse' (Collier).  Steeds  and  willi 
20.    weeds.     '  Weed  is  a  term      are  plausible  emendations. 

252 


sc.  IV  Measure  for  Measure 

Duke.  I  do  fear,  too  dreadful : 

Sith  'twas  my  fault  to  give  the  people  scope, 
'Tvvould  be  my  tyranny  to  strike  and  gall  them 
For  what  I  bid  them  do  :  for  we  bid  this  be  done, 
When  evil  deeds  have  their  permissive  pass 
And  not  the  punishment.      Therefore  indeed,  my 

father, 
I  have  on  Angelo  imposed  the  office ;  40 

Who  may,  in  the  ambush  of  my  name,  strike  home, 
And  yet  my  nature  never  in  the  fight 
To  do  in  slander.      And  to  behold  his  sway, 
I  will,  as  'twere  a  brother  of  your  order. 
Visit  both  prince  and  people  :  therefore,  I  prithee. 
Supply  me  with  the  habit  and  instruct  me 
How  I  may  formally  in  person  bear  me 
Like  a  true  friar.      Moe  reasons  for  this  actjon 
At  our  more  leisure  shall  I  render  you ; 
Only,  this  one  :  Lord  Angelo  is  precise ;  50 

Stands  at  a  guard  with  envy ;  scarce  confesses 
That  his  blood  flows,  or  that  his  appetite 
Is  more  to  bread  than  stone  :  hence  shall  we  see. 
If  power  change  purpose,  what  our  seemers  be. 

\Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.     A  nunnery. 

Enter  Isabella  and  Francisca. 

Isab.  And  have  you  nuns  no  farther  privileges  ? 
Fran.  Are  not  these  large  enough  ? 
Isab.   Yes,  truly  :  I  speak  not  as  desiring  more ; 
But  rather  wishing  a  more  strict  restraint 

43.    To  do  in  slander.      This  speare  nowhere  uses  do  in  this 

is    probably    corrupt,    and    no  archaic  sense, 
satisfactory  emendation  has  been  51.    Stands  at  a  guard  with, 

proposed.     The    suggested  ex-  stands  on  guard  against ;  shows 

planation,  '  to  bring  in  slander,'  no   weak    places    for    envy   or 

suits    the    context,    but    Shake-  malice  to  attack. 

253 


Measure  for  Measure  act  i 

Upon  the  sisterhood,  the  votarists  of  Saint  Clare. 

Liicio.    \_Withi){\   Ho  !   Peace  be  in  this  place  ! 

Isab.  Who  's  that  which  calls  ? 

Fran.   It  is  a  man's  voice.      Gentle  Isabella, 
Turn  you  the  key,  and  know  his  business  of  him ; 
You  may,  I  may  not ;  you  are  yet  unsworn. 
When  you  have  vow'd,  you  must  not  speak  with 

men  lo 

But  in  the  presence  of  the  prioress  : 
Then,  if  you  speak,  you  must  not  show  your  face, 
Or,  if  you  show  your  face,  you  must  not  speak. 
He  calls  again  ;  I  pray  you,  answer  him.        \Exit. 

Isab.  Peace  and  prosperity !    Who  is 't  that  calls? 

Enter  Lucio. 

Liicio.     Hail,  virgin,  if  you  be,  as  those  cheek- 
rose^ 
Proclaim  you  are  no  less !     Can  you  so  stead  me 
As  bring  me  to  the  sight  of  Isabella, 
A  novice  of  this  place  and  the  fair  sister 
To  her  unhappy  brother  Claudio  ?  20 

Isab.  Why  '  her  unhappy  brother '  ?  let  me  ask. 
The  rather  for  I  now  must  make  you  know 
I  am  that  Isabella  and  his  sister. 

Incio.  Gentle  and  fair,  your  brother  kindly  greets 
you  : 
Not  to  be  weary  with  you,  he  's  in  prison. 

Isab.   Woe  me  !   for  what  ? 

Lucio.  For  that  which,  if  myself  might  be  his 
judge, 
He  should  receive  his  punishment  in  thanks  : 
He  hath  got  his  friend  with  child. 

Isab.   Sir,  make  me  not  your  story. 

Lucio.  It  is  true.     30 

I  would  not — though  'tis  my  familiar  sin 

30.  your  story,  the  subject  of  your  jest. 


sc.  IV  Measure  for  Measure 

With  maids  to  seem  the  lapwing  and  to  jest, 
Tongue  far  from  heart — play  with  all  virgins  so : 
I  hold  you  as  a  thing  ensky'd  and  sainted, 
By  your  renouncement  an  immortal  spirit, 
And  to  be  talk'd  with  in  sincerity, 
As  with  a  saint. 

Isab.   You  do  blaspheme  the  good  in  mocking 
me. 

Lucio.   Do  not  believe  it.     Fewness  and  truth, 
'tis  thus  : 
Your  brother  and  his  lover  have  embraced :  40 

As  those  that  feed  grow  full,  as  blossoming  time 
That  from  the  seedness  the  bare  fallow  brings 
To  teeming  foison,  even  so  her  plenteous  womb 
Expresseth  his  full  tilth  and  husbandry. 

Isab.  Some  one  with  child  by  him  ?    My  cousin 
Juliet  ? 

Lucio.   Is  she  your  cousin  ? 

Isab.  Adoptedly ;  as  school-maids  change  their 
names 
By  vain  thou^gh  ajt^afifection. 

Lie  do.  She  it  is. 

Isab.  O,  let  him  marry  her. 

Lucio.  This  is  the  point. 

The  duke  is  very  strangely  gone  from  hence  ;  50 

Bore  many  gentlemen,  myself  being  one, 
In  hand  and  hope  of  action  :  but  we  do  learn 
By  those  that  know  the  very  nerves  of  state, 
His  givings-out  were  of  an  infinite  distance 
From  his  true-meant  design.      Upon  his  place, 
And  with  full  line  of  his  authority, 

32.    to  seem  the  lapwing,  i.e.       and  truly. 

to  delude  them  bv  pretences,  as  /•  ■  u     j 

,        .  •    ■  '^     ,.         '  ,  43.  foison,  abundance, 

the  lapwing  tries  to  divert  the 

sportsman  from  the  direction  of  51,    52.    Bore  .   .   .    in   hand 

its  nest.  and  hope  of  action,  begxiiled  with 

39.  Fewness  and  truth,  briefly      the  hope  of  action. 

255 


Measure  for  Measure  act  i 

Governs  Lord  Angelo  ;  a  man  whose  blood 

Is  very  snow-broth ;  one  who  never  feels 

The  wanton  stings  and  motions  of  the  sense, 

But  doth  rebate  and  blunt  his  natural  edge  60 

With  profits  of  the  mind,  study  and  fast. 

He — to  give  fear  to  use  and  liberty,     / 

Which  have  for  long  run  by  the  hideous  law, 

As  mice  by  lions — hath  pick'd  out  an  act, 

Under  whose  heavy  sense  your  brother's  life 

Falls  into  forfeit  :  he  arrests  him  on  it ; 

And  follows  close  the  rigour  of  the  statute. 

To  make  him  an  example.      All  hope  is  gone, 

Unless  you  have  the  grace  by  your  fair  prayer 

To  soften  Angelo  :  and  that 's  my  pith  of  business   70 

'Twixt  you  and  your  poor  brother. 

Isab.  Doth  he  so  seek  his  life  ? 

Lucio.  Has  censured  him 

Already ;  and,  as  I  hear,  the  provost  hath 
A  warrant  for  his  execution. 

Isab.   Alas  !  what  poor  ability 's  in  me 
To  do  him  good  ? 

Liicio.  Assay  the  power  you  have. 

Isab.   My  power?    Alas,  I  doubt — 

Lucio.  Our  doubts  are  traitors 

And  make  us  lose  the  goodie  oft  might  win 
By  fearing  to  attempt.      Go  to  Lord  Angelo, 
And  let  him  learn  to  know,  when  maidens  sue,         80 
Men  give  like  gods  \  but  when  they  weep  and  kneel, 
All  their  petitions  are  as  freely  theirs 
As  they  themselves  would  owe  them. 

Isab.  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do. 

59.  motions,  impulses.  72.    censured,    judged,    con- 

,    .      ,  ,,  damned. 

60.  rebate,  dull.  g^      ^^    j^    ^^^^    themselves 

62.   use   and   liberty,    license      owned  the  petitions,  i.e.  had  the 
grown  customary.  granting  of  them  in  their  own 

69.  grace,  good  fortune.  hands. 

256 


ACT  II 


Measure  for  Measure 


Uicio.  But  speedily. 

Isab.   I  will  about  it  straight ; 
No  longer  staying  but  to  give  the  mother 
Notice  of  my  affair.      I  humbly  thank  you  : 
Commend  me  to  my  brother :  soon  at  night 
I  '11  send  him  certain  word  of  my  success. 

Liicio.  I  take  my  leave  of  you. 

Isab.  Good  sir,  adieu.    90 

\_Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I.     A  hall  in  Angelo's  house. 

Enter  Angelo,  Escalus,  and  a  Justice,  Provost, 
OfiEicers,  and  other  Attendants,  behind. 

Anz.  We  must  not  make  a  scarecrow  of  the  law, 
Setting  it  up  to  fear  the  birds  of  prey. 
And  let  it  keep  one  shape,  till  custom  make  it 
Their  perch  and  not  their  terror. 

Escal.  Ay,  but  yet 

Let  us  be  keen,  and  rather  cut  a  little. 
Than  fall,  and  bruise  to  death.   Alas,  this  gentleman, 
Whom  I  would  save,  had  a  most  noble  father  ! 
Let  but  your  honour  know. 
Whom  I  believe  to  be  most  strait  in  virtue, 
That,  in  the  working  of  your  own  affections, 
Had  time  cohered  with  place  or  place  with  wishing, 
Or  that  the  resolute  acting  of  your  blood 
Could  have  attain'd  the  effect  of  your  own  purpose, 
Whether  you  had  not  sometime  in  your  life 
Err'd  in  this  point  which  now  you  censure  him. 
And  puU'd  the  law  upon  you, 

89.    my  success,  the   issue   of  2.  fear,  frighten, 

my  suit.  6.  fall,  fell 

VOL.  Ill  257  S 


Measure  for  Measure         act  n 

Aug.   'Tis  one  thing  to  be  tempted,  Escalus, 
Another  thing  to  fall.      I  not  deny, 
The  jury,  passing  on  the  prisoner's  life. 
May  in  the  sworn  twelve  have  a  thief  or  two  20 

Guiltier  than  him  they  try.    What 's  open  made  to 

justice. 
That  justice  seizes  :  what  know  the  laws 
That  thieves  do  pass  on  thieves  ?    'Tis  very  pregnant, 
The  jev/el  that  we  find,  we  stoop  and  take 't 
Because  we  see  it ;  but  what  we  do  not  see 
We  tread  upon,  and  never  think  of  it. 
You  may  not  so  extenuate  his  offence 
For  I  have  had  such  faults ;  but  rather  tell  me, 
When  I,  that  censure  him,  do  so  offend. 
Let  mine  own  judgement  pattern  out  my  death,        30 
And  nothing  come  in  partial.     Sir,  he  must  die. 

Escal.   Be  it  as  your  wisdom  will. 

A7ig.  Where  is  the  provost? 

Frov.   Here,  if  it  like  your  honour. 

Ang.  See  that  Claudio 

Be  executed  by  nine  to-morrow  morning  : 
Bring  him  his  confessor,  let  him  be  prepared ; 
For  that 's  the  utmost  of  his  pilgrimage. 

\E,xit  Provost. 

Escal.    \Aside\  Well,  heaven  forgive  him  !    and 
forgive  us  all  I 
Some  rise  by  sin,  and  some  by  virtue  fall : 
Some  run  from  brakes  of  vice,  and  answer  none : 
And  some  condemned  for  a  fault  alone.  40 

23.  pregnant,  evident.  fluence  intervene. 

28.   For,  on  the  ground  that.  39.     brakes,    thickets.       Vke 

30.  Let    my  death  -  sentence  is  the  almost  certain  correction 
on  him  be  applied  to  my  own  of  Rowe  for  Ff  ice. 

case.  39-   and  answer  none,  without 

31.  And    nothing    come    in      being  called  to  account  ;  paying 
partial,  and    no    favouring    in-      no  penalty. 

=  58 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 


Enter  Elbow,  mid  Ofificers  with  Froth  and 

POiMPEY. 

Elb.  Come,  bring  them  away  :  if  these  be  good 
people  in  a  commonweal  that  do  nothing  but  use 
their  abuses  in  common  houses,  I  know  no  law  : 
bring  them  away. 

Ang.  How  now,  sir !  What 's  your  name  ? 
and  what 's  the  matter  ? 

Elb.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  am  the  poor 
duke's  constable,  and  my  name  is  Elbow  :  I  do 
lean  upon  justice,  sir,  and  do  bring  in  here  before 
your  good  honour  two  notorious  benefactors.  50 

Ang.  Benefactors  ?  Well ;  what  benefactors  are 
they  ?  are  they  not  malefactors  ? 

Elb.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  know  not  well 
what  they  are  :  but  precise  villains  they  are,  that 
I  am  sure  of;  and  void  of  all  profanation  in  the 
world  that  good  Christians  ought  to  have. 

Escal.  This  comes  off  well ;  here 's  a  wise 
officer. 

Ang.  Go  to  :  what  quality  are  they  of?     Elbow 
is  your  name  ?  why  dost  thou  not  speak.  Elbow  ?      60 
_      Pom.   He  cannot,  sir ;  he  's  out  at  elbow. 
K     Ang.  What  are  you,  sir  ? 

™  Elb.  He,  sir  !  a  tapster,  sir ;  parcel-bawd ;  one 
that  serves  a  bad  woman  ;  whose  house,  sir,  was, 
as  they  say,  plucked  down  in  the  suburbs  ;  and 
now  she  professes  a  hot-house,  which,  I  think,  is 
a  very  ill  house  too. 


43.   common  Kbnses,  houses  of  57.   comes  off  well,  is  well  de- 

ill-fame,  livered. 

66.  hot-house,  bathing-house  ; 

47.    the  poor  duke's  constable,      but  also  used  for  a  house  of  ill- 
for  '  the  duke's  poor  constable.'       fame. 


Measure  for  Measure  act  n 

Escal.   How  know  you  that? 

Elb.  My  wife,  sir,  whom  I  detest  before  heaven 
and  your  honour, —  70 

Escal.   How  ?  thy  wife  ? 

Elb.  Ay,  sir ;  whom,  I  thank  heaven,  is  an 
honest  v/oman, — 

Escal.   Dost  thou  detest  her  therefore  ? 

Elb.  I  say,  sir,  I  will  detest  myself  also,  as 
well  as  she,  that  this  house,  if  it  be  not  a  bawd's 
house,  it  is  pity  of  her  life,  for  it  is  a  naughty 
house. 

Escal.   How  dost  thou  know  that,  constable  ? 

Elb.    Marry,  sir,   by  my  wife ;    who,  if  she  had  80 
been  a  woman  cardinally  given,  might  have  been 
accused  in  fornication,  adultery,  and  all  unclean- 
liness  there. 

Escal.   By  the  woman's  means  ? 

Elb.  Ay,  sir,  by  Mistress  Overdone's  means : 
but  as  she  spit  in  his  face,  so  she  defied  him. 

Fo}>i.   Sir,  if  it  please  your  honour,  this  is  not  so. 

Elb.  Prove  it  before  these  varlets  here,  thou 
honourable  man  ;  prove  it. 

Escal.   Do  you  hear  how  he  misplaces  ?  90 

FoTH.  Sir,  she  came  in  great  with  child ;  and 
longing,  saving  your  honour's  reverence,  for  stewed 
prunes ;  sir,  we  had  but  two  in  the  house,  which 
at  that  very  distant  time  stood,  as  it  were,  in 
a  fruit -dish,  a  dish  of  some  three-pence;  your 
honours  have  seen  such  dishes ;  they  are  not 
China  dishes,  but  very  good  dishes, — 

Escal.   Go  to,  go  to  :  no  matter  for  the  dish,  sir. 

Fo?fi.   No,  indeed,   sir,   not  of  a  pin  ;    you  are 
therein  in  the  right :  but  to  the  point.      As  I  say,  100 
this   Mistress  Elbow,  being,  as  I  say,  with  child, 
and  being  great-bellied,  and  longing,  as  I  said,  for 
prunes ;  and  having  but  two  in  the  dish,  as  I  said, 

260 


SC.  I 


Measure  for  Measure 


'  Master  Froth  here,  this  very  man,  liaving  eaten 
the  rest,  as  I  said,  and,  as  I  say,  paying  for  them 
very  honestly;  for,  as  you  know,  Master  Froth, 
I  could  not  give  you  three-pence  again. 

Froth.   No,  indeed. 

Pom.    Very  well ;    you  being   then,  if  you  be 
remembered,  cracking  the  stones  of  the  foresaid  no 
prunes, — 

Froth.  Ay,  so  I  did  indeed. 

Pom.  Why,  very  well ;  I  telling  you  then,  if 
you  be  remembered,  that  such  a  one  and  such  a 
one  were  past  cure  of  the  thing  you  wot  of,  unless 
they  kept  very  good  diet,  as  I  told  you, — 

Froth.   All  this  is  true. 

Pom.  Why,  very  well,  then, — 

Escal.    Come,  you  are  a  tedious  fool :    to  the 
purpose.     What  was  done  to  Elbow's  wife,  that  he  120 
hath  cause  to  complain  of?     Come  me  to  what  was 
done  to  her. 

Pom.  Sir,  your  honour  cannot  come  to  that  yet. 

Escal.   No,  sir,  nor  I  mean  it  not. 

Pom.  Sir,  but  you  shall  come  to  it,  by  your 
honour's  leave.  And,  I  beseech  you,  look  into 
Master  Froth  here,  sir  ;  a  man  of  fourscore  pound 
a  year ;  whose  father  died  at  Hallowmas :  was  't 
not  at  Hallowmas,  Master  Froth  ? 

Froth.   AU-hallond  eve.  130 

Pom.  Why,  very  well ;  I  hope  here  be  truths. 
He,  sir,  sitting,  as  I  say,  in  a  lower  chair,  sir; 
'twas  in  the  Bunch  of  Grapes,  where  indeed  you 
have  a  delight  to  sit,  have  you  not  ? 

Froth.  I  have  so ;  because  it  is  an  open  room 
and  good  for  winter. 

130.     All-hallond    eve,     the  133.     Bunch    of  Grapes,    the 

eve  of  All- Hallows'  Day.  name  of  a  room  in  the  tavern. 

132.  lower  chair,  Qz&y  €ask\x.  135.   <;/««,  probably  '  sunny.' 

261 


Measure  for  Measure         act  u 

Pom.  Why,  very   well,  then ;    I  hope  here  be 
truths. 

A7ig.  This  will  last  out  a  night  in  Russia, 
When  nights  are  longest  there  :  I  '11  take  my  leave,  140 
And  leave  you  to  the  hearing  of  the  cause  ; 
Hoping  you  '11  find  good  cause  to  whip  them  all. 

Escal.  I  think  no  less.     Good  morrow  to  your 
lordship.  [Exit  A^igelo. 

Now,   sir,  come  on  :    what  was  done  to  Elbow's 
wife,  once  more  ? 

Pom.  Once,  sir?  there  was  nothing  done  to 
her  once. 

Elb.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  ask  him  what  this 
man  did  to  my  wife. 

Pom.   I  beseech  your  honour,  ask  me.  150 

Escal.  Well,  sir;  what  did  this  gentleman  to 
her? 

Pom.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  look  in  this  gentle- 
man's face.  Good  Master  Froth,  look  upon  his 
honour;  'tis  for  a  good  purpose.  Doth  your 
honour  mark  his  face  ? 

Escal.  Ay,  sir,  very  well. 

Por7i.  Nay,  I  beseech  you,  mark  it  well. 

Escal.   Well,  I  do  so. 

Pom.  Doth  your  honour  see  any  harm  in  his 
face  ?  '6o 

Escal.  Why,  no. 

Pom.  I  '11  be  supposed  upon  a  book,  his  face 
is  the  worst  thing  about  him.  Good,  then  ;  if  his 
face  be  the  worst  thing  about  him,  how  could 
Master  Froth  do  the  constable's  wife  any  harm? 
I  would  know  that  of  your  honour. 

Escal.  He's  in  the  right.  Constable,  what 
say  you  to  it  ? 

Elb.  First,  an  it  like  you,  the  house  is  a  respected 

162.  supposed,  deposed  ;  I  will  take  my  oath. 

262 


SC.  I 


Measure  for  Measure 


house ;    next,  this  is  a  respected  fellow ;  and  his  170 
mistress  is  a  respected  woman. 

Pom.  By  this  hand,  sir,  his  wife  is  a  more  re- 
spected person  than  any  of  us  all. 

Elb.  Varlet,  thou  liest ;  thou  liest,  wicked 
varlet !  the  time  is  yet  to  come  that  she  was  ever 
respected  with  man,  woman,  or  child. 

Pom.  Sir,  she  was  respected  with  him  before 
he  married  with  her. 

Escal.   Which  is  the  wiser  here?      Justice   or  i8o 
Iniquity?     Is  this  true? 

Elb.  O  thou  caitiff!  O  thou  varlet !  O  thou 
wicked  Hannibal !  I  respected  with  her  before 
I  was  married  to  her !  If  ever  I  was  respected 
with  her,  or  she  with  me,  let  not  your  worship 
think  me  the  poor  duke's  officer.  Prove  this, 
thou  wicked  Hannibal,  or  I  '11  have  mine  action 
of  battery  on  thee. 

Escal.  If  he  took  you  a  box  o'  the  ear,  you 
might  have  your  action  of  slander  too.  190 

Elb.  Marry,  I  thank  your  good  worship  for 
it.  What  is 't  your  worship's  pleasure  I  shall  do 
with  this  wicked  caitiff? 

Escal.  Truly,  officer,  because  he  hath  some 
offences  in  hun  that  thou  wouldst  discover  if  thou 
couldst,  let  him  continue  in  his  courses  till  thou 
knowest  what  they  are. 

Elb.  Marry,  I  thank  your  worship  for  it.    Thou 
seest,  thou  wicked  varlet,  now,  what 's  come  upon 
thee  :  thou  art  to  continue  now,  thou  varlet;  thou  200 
art  to  continue. 

Escal.   Where  were  you  born,  friend? 

Froth.   Here  in  Vienna,  sir. 

180.     Justice    or     Iniquity;      Justice,  and  the  FzVf  or  Clown, 
alluding  to  figures  in  the  Mor-  183.    Hannibal,  for   '  Canni- 

alities  :  —  the  personification  of      bal. ' 

263 


Measure  for  Measure  act  n 

Escal.  Are  you  of  fourscore  pounds  a  year  ? 

Froth.   Yes,  an  't  please  you,  sir. 

Escal.  So.     What  trade  are  you  of,  sir  ? 

Pom.   A  tapster  ;  a  poor  widow's  tapster. 

Escal.   Your  mistress'  name? 

Pom.   Mistress  Overdone. 

Escal.    Hath  she  had  any  more  than  one  hus-  210 
band? 

Pom.   Nine,  sir  ;  Overdone  by  the  last. 

Escal.  Nine !  Come  hither  to  me,  Master 
Froth.  Master  Froth,  I  would  not  have  you 
acquainted  with  tapsters :  they  will  draw  you, 
Master  Froth,  and  you  will  hang  them.  Get  you 
gone,  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  you. 

Froth.  I  thank  your  worship.  For  mine  own 
part,  I  never  come  into  any  room  in  a  taphouse, 
but  I  am  drawn  in.  220 

Escal.  Well,  no  more  of  it.  Master  Froth : 
farewell.  {Exit  Froth.]  Come  you  hither  to 
me,  Master  tapster.  What's  your  name,  Master 
tapster  ? 

Pom.   Pompey. 

Escal.  What  else? 

Pom.   Bum,  sir. 

Escal.  Troth,  and  your  bum  is  the  greatest 
thing  about  you  ;  so  that  in  the  beastliest  sense 
you  are  Pompey  the  Great.  Pompey,  you  are  230 
partly  a  bawd,  Pompey,  howsoever  you  colour  it 
in  being  a  tapster,  are  you  not  ?  come,  tell  me 
true  :  it  shall  be  the  better  for  you. 

Pom.  Truly,  sir,  I  am  a  poor  fellow  that  would 
jive. 

Escal.    How    would    you    live,    Pompey?    by 

215.   draw  you  (quibbling  on      (2)  drag  to  execution), 
the  two  senses  :  (i)  draw  liquor,  220.   drawn  in,  swindled. 

264 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

being  a  bawd  ?     What  do  you  think  of  the  trade, 
Pompey  ?  is  it  a  lawful  trade  ? 

Fom.   If  the  law  would  allow  it,  sir. 

Escal.    But  the  law  will  not  allow  it,  Pompey ;  240 
nor  it  shall  not  be  allowed  in  Vienna. 

Fom.  Does  your  worship  mean  to  geld  and 
splay  all  the  youth  of  the  city  ? 

Escal.   No,  Pompey. 

Pom.  Truly,  sir,  in  my  poor  opinion,  they 
will  to  't  then.  If  your  worship  will  take  order 
for  the  drabs  and  the  knaves,  you  need  not  to 
fear  the  bawds. 

Escal.  There  are  pretty  orders  beginning,  I 
can  tell  you  :  it  is  but  heading  and  hanging.  250 

Fom.  If  you  head  and  hang  all  that  offend 
that  way  but  for  ten  year  together,  you  '11  be 
glad  to  give  out  a  commission  for  more  heads  :  if 
tills  law  hold  in  Vienna  ten  year,  I  '11  rent  the 
fairest  house  in  it  after  three-pence  a  bay  :  if  you 
live  to  see  this  come  to  pass,  say  Pompey  told 
you  so. 

Escal.  Thank  you,  good  Pompey ;  and,  in  re- 
quital of  your  prophecy,  hark  you,  I  advise  you, 
let  me  not  find  you  before  me  again  upon  any  260 
complaint  whatsoever ;  no,  not  for  dwelling  where 
you  do  :  if  I  do,  Pompey,  I  shall  beat  you  to  your 
tent,  and  prove  a  shrewd  Cgesar  to  you  ;  in  plain 
dealing,  Pompey,  I  shall  have  you  whipt :  so,  for 
this  time,  Pompey,  fare  you  well. 

Fom.  I  thank  your  worship  for  your  good 
counsel :  \Aside\  but  I  shall  follow  it  as  the  flesh 
and  fortune  shall  better  determine. 

243.   splaf,  castrate.  eluded  between  successive  beams 

or    buttresses.        Coles'      Latin 

255.  bay,  an  architectural  Dictionary  (quoted  by  Singer) 
term  for  a  certain  division  of  a  defines  '  a  bay  of  building, 
building,  usually  the  space  in-      mensura  2^ pedum.' 

265 


Measure  for  Measure  act  n 

Whip    me?       No,    no;    let    carman    whip    his 

jade  : 
The  vaUant  heart 's  not  whipt  out  of  his  trade.  270 

[Exit. 

Escal.  Come  hither  to  me,  Master  Elbow ; 
come  hither.  Master  constable.  How  long  have 
you  been  in  this  place  of  constable  ? 

Elb.   Seven  year  and  a  half,  sir. 

Escal.  I  thought,  by  your  readiness  in  the 
office,  you  had  continued  in  it  some  time.  You 
say,  seven  years  together? 

Elb.   And  a  half,  sir. 

Escal.  Alas,  it  hath   been  great  pains  to  you. 
They  do  you  wrong  to  put  you  so  oft  upon  't :  are  280 
there  not  men  in  your  ward  sufficient  to  serve  it  ? 

Elb.  Faith,  sir,  few  of  any  wit  in  such  matters : 
as  they  are  chosen,  they  are  glad  to  choose  me 
for  them  ;  I  do  it  for  some  piece  of  money,  and 
go  through  with  all. 

Escal.  Look  you  bring  me  in  the  names  of  some 
six  or  seven,  the  most  sufficient  of  your  parish. 

Elb.  To  your  worship's  house,  sir? 

Escal.   To  my  house.     Fare  you  well. 

\Exit  Elbow. 
What 's  o'clock,  think  you  ?  290 

Just.  Eleven,  sir. 

Escal.   I  pray  you  home  to  dinner  with  me. 

Just.   I  humbly  thank  you. 

Escal.  It  grieves  me  for  the  death  of  Claudio ; 
But  there 's  no  remedy. 

Just.   Lord  Angelo  is  severe. 

Escal.  It  is  but  needful : 

Mercy  is  not  itself,  that  oft  looks  so ; 
Pardon  is  still  the  nurse  of  second  woe  : 
But  yet, — poor  Claudio  !     There  is  no  remedy. 
Come,  sir.  [Exeunt.  300 

266 


sc.  11  Measure  for  Measure 

Scene  II.     Another  roojn  in  the  same. 

Enter  Provost  and  a  Servant. 

Serv.   He 's  hearing  of  a  cause ;  he  will  come 
straight : 
I  '11  tell  him  of  you. 

Prov.  Pray  you,  do.      \Exit  Servant.] 

1  '11  know 
His  pleasure ;  may  be  he  will  relent.     Alas, 
He  hath  but  as  offended  in  a  dream  ! 
All  sects,  all  ages  smack  of  this  vice  ;  and  he 
To  die  for 't ! 

Enter  Angelo. 

Ang.  Now,  what 's  the  matter,  provost  ? 

Prov.    Is    it   your  will    Claudio    shall    die    to- 
morrow ? 

Ang.  Did  not  I  tell  thee  yea?  hadst  thou  not 
order  ? 
Why  dost  thou  ask  again  ? 

Frov.  Lest  I  might  be  too  rash  : 

Under  your  good  correction,  I  have  seen. 
When,  after  execution,  judgement  hath  ^^^^^ 
Repented  o'er  his  doom. 

Ang.  Go  to  ;  let  that  be  mine  : 

Do  you  your  office,  or  give  up  your  place, 
And  you  shall  well  be  spared. 

Prov.  I  crave  your  honour's  pardon. 

What  shall  be  done,  sir,  with  the  groaning  JuUet  ? 
She 's  very  near  her  hour. 

Ang.  Dispose  of  her 

To  some  more  fitter  place,  and  that  with  speed. 

5.  sects,  classes. 
267 


Measure  for  Measure  act  n 

Re-enter  Servant. 

Serv.   Here  is  the  sister  of  the  man  condemn'd 
Desires  access  to  you. 

Ang.  Hath  he  a  sister? 

Prov.   Ay,  my  good  lord ;  a  very  virtuous  maid,    20 
And  to  be  shortly  of  a  sisterhood, 
If  not  already. 

A7ig.  Well,  let  her  be  admitted. 

\Exit  Servant. 
See  you  the  fornicjitress  be  removed  : 
Let  her  have  needful,  but  not  lavish,  means ; 
There  shall  be  order  for 't. 

Enter  Isabella  and  Lucio. 

Prov.  God  sa\e  your  honour  ! 

Ang.   Stay  a  little  while.     \To  Isab?^     You  're 
welcome  :  what 's  your  will  ? 

Isah.   I  am  a  woeful  suitor  to  your  honour, 
Please  but  your  honour  hear  me. 

Aiig.  Well ;  what 's  your  suit  ? 

Isab.   There  is  a  vice  that  most  I  do  abhor, 
And  most  desire  should  meet  the  blow  of  justice ;    30 
For  which  I  would  not  plead,  but  that  I  must  \ 
For  which  I  must  not  plead,  but  that  I  am 
At  war  'tjyixt  will  and  will  not. 

Ang.  Well ;  the  matter  ? 

Isab.   I  have  a  brother  is  condemn'd  to  die : 
I  do  beseech  you,  let  it  be  his  fault, 
And  not  my  brother. 

Prov.       \AsiJc\       Heaven    give    thee    moving 
graces  ! 

Ang.   Condemn   the   fault,   and    not   the   actor 
of  it? 
Why,  every  fault 's  condemn'd  ere  it  be  done : 
Mine  were  the  very  cipher  of  a  function, 

26S 


sc.  II  Measure  for  Measure 

To  fine  the  faults  whose  fine  stands  in  record,  40 

And  let  go  by  the  actor. 

Isab.  O  just  but  severe  law  ! 

I  had  a  brother,  then.      Heaven  keep  your  honour  ! 

Liicio.   \yhide  to  Isab.'\     Give  't  not  o'er  so  :  to 
him  again,  entreat  him  ; 
Kneel  down  before  him,  hang  upon  his  gown  : 
You  are  too  cold  ;  if  you  should  need  a  pin. 
You  could  not  with  more  tame  a  tongue  desire  it : 
To  him,  I  say  ! 

Isab.   jSIust  he  needs  die? 

A)ig.  Maiden,  no  remedy. 

Isab.  Yes ;  I  do  think  that  you  might  pardon 
him, 
And  neither  heaven  nor  man  grieve  at  the  mercy. 

Ang.   I  will  not  do  't.  50 

Isab.  But  can  you,  if  \ou  would  ? 

Ang.   Look,  what  I  will  not,  that  I  cannot  do. 

Isab.   But  might  you  do  't,  and  do  the  world  no 
wTong, 
If  so  your  heart  were  touch'd  with  that  remorse 
As  mine  is  to  him  ? 

Ang.  He  's  sentenced  ;  'tis  too  late. 

Lucio.  \Aside  to  Isab.]  You  are  too  cold. 

Isab.   Too  late  ?  why,   no  ;   I,   that  do  speak  a 
word, 
May  call  it  back  again.     Well,  believe  this, 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs. 
Not  the  king's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword,  60 

The  marshal's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge's  robe, 
Become  them  with  one  half  so  good  a  grace 
As  mercy  does. 

If  he  had  been  as  you  and  you  as  he,  ^^ 

You  would  have  slipt  like  him  ;  but  he,  like  you, 
Would  not  have  been  so  stern. 

Ang.  Pray  you,  be  gone. 

269 


{ 


Measure  for  Measure         act  n 

/sad.  I  would  to  heaven  I  had  your  potency, 
And  you  were  Isabel !  should  it  then  be  thus  ? 
No ;  I  would  tell  what  'twere  to  be  a  judge, 
And  what  a  prisoner. 

Zudo.   [Aside  to  Isab.'\  Ay,  touch  him;  there's 

the  vein.  7«> 

A7ig.   Your  brother  is  a  forfeit  of  the  law, 
And  you  but  waste  your  words. 

Isab.  Alas,  alas  ! 

Why,  all  the  souls  that  were  were  forfeit  once ; 
And  He  that  might  the  vantage  best  have  took 
Found  out  the  remedy.      How  would  you  be. 
If  He,  which  is  the  top  of  judgement,  should 
But  judge  you  as  you  are  ?     O,  think  on  that ; 
And  mercy  then  will  breathe  within  your  lips, 
Like  man  new  made. 

Ang.  Be  you  content,  fair  maid  ; 

It  is  the  law,  not  I  condemn  your  brother :  80 

Were  he  my  kinsman,  brother,  or  my  son. 
It   should   be   thus   with   him :    he   must   die   to- 
morrow. 
Isah.    To-morrow  !     O,  that 's  sudden  !     Spare 
him,  spare  him  ! 
He's    not    prepared    for    death.       Even    for    our 

kitchens 
We  kill  the  fowl  of  season  :  shall  we  serve  heaven 
With  less  respect  than  we  do  minister 
To  our  gross  selves?     Good,   good  my  lord,  be- 
think you  ; 
Who  is  it  that  hath  died  for  this  offence? 
There  's  many  have  committed  it. 

Liicio.  [Aside  to  Isab?^  Ay,  well  said. 

78,  79.    And  mercy  then  .  .  .  ceived  as  suddenly  starting  into 

like  man    new    made,    like    the  existence    in    Angelo    like    the 

breathoflifeinthelipsofthenew-  child's  first  breath, 
born  child  (or  of  Adam).      The  85.   of  season,    when  it    is   fit 

breath  of  merciful  speech  is  con-  for  killing. 

270 


SC.  II 


Measure  for  Measure 


Ang.  The  law  hath  not  been  dead,  though  it 
hath  slept  :  90 

Those  many  had  not  dared  to  do  that  evil, 
If  the  first  that  did  the  edict  infringe 
Had  answer'd  for  his  deed  :  now  'tis  awake, 
Takes  note  of  what  is  done ;  and,  like  a  prophet, 
Looks  in  a  glass,  that  shows  what  future  evils, 
Either  new,  or  by  remissness  new-conceived, 
And  so  in  progress  to  be  hatch'd  and  born, 
Are  now  to  have  no  successive  degrees. 
But,  ere  they  live,  to  end. 

/sa^.  Yet  show  some  pity. 

Ajig.   I  show  it  most  of  all  when  I  show  justice ;  100 
For  then  I  pity  those  I  do  not  know, 
Which  a  dismiss'd  offence  would  after  gall ; 
And  do  him  right  that,  answering  one  foul  wrong. 
Lives  not  to  act  another.     Be  satisfied ; 
Your  brother  dies  to-morrow  ;  be  content. 

/sad.   So  you  must  be  the  first  that  gives  this 
sentence. 
And  he,  that  suffers.      O,  it  is  excellent 
To  have  a  giant's  strength  ^TJut  it^is  tyrannous 
To^usenTTnTe'a  giantr" 
-^TI^^ITX^side  to  Isak]  That's  well  said. 

/sad.  Could  great  men  thunder  no 

As  Jove  himself  does,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet, 
For  every  pelting,  petty  ofticer 
Would  use  his  heaven  for  thunder ; 
Nothing  but  thunder  !     Merciful  Heaven, 
Thou  rather  with  thy  sharp  and  sulphurous  bolt 
Split'st  the  unwedgeable  and  gnarled  oak 
Than  the  soft  myrtle  :  but  man,  proud  man, 
Brest  in  a  little  brief  authority, 

90.     Alluding    to    the    legal  96.   Either  (monosyllabic), 

maxim  :     Dor?niunt    aliquando 
leges,  moriuntur  nunquam.  112.  pelting,  insignificant. 

271 


Measure  for  Measure         act  h 

Most  ignorant  of  what  he  's  most  assured, 

His  glassy  essence, — Uke  an  angry  ape —  izo 

Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven 

As  make  the  angels  weep ;  who,  with  our  spleens, 

Would  all  themselves  laugh  mortal. 

Lucio.    {Aside    to   Isab^^    O,    to    him,    to    him, 
wench  !  he  will  relent ; 
He  's  coming  ;  I  perceive  't. 

Prov.  [Aside]  Pray  heaven  she  win  him  ! 

/sab.  We  cannot  weigh  our  brother  with  ourself : 
Great  men  may  jest  with  saints ;  'tis  wit  in  them. 
But  in  the  less  foul  profanation. 

Ludo.  Thou  'rt  i'  the  right,  girl ;  more  o'  that. 

Isab.   That  in  the  captain 's  but  a  choleric  word,  130 
Which  in  the  soldier  is  flat  blasphemy. 

Lucio.  [Aside  to  Isad.]  Art  avised  o' that  ?  more 
on't. 

Ang.   Why  do  you  put  these  sayings  upon  me  ? 

/sad.     Because    authority,    though    it    err    like 
others, 
Hath  yet  a  kind  of  medicine  in  itself, 
That  skins  the  vice  o'  the  top.      Go  to  your  bosom  ; 
Knock  there,   and  ask  your    heart   what   it   doth 

know 
That 's  like  my  brother's  fault :  if  it  confess 
A  natural  guiltiness  such  as  is  his, 
Let  it  not  sound  a  thought  upon  your  tongue  140 

Against  my  brother's  life. 

Ang.  [Aside]  She  speaks,  and  'tis 

Such  sense,  that  my  sense  breeds  with  it. — Fare 
you  well. 

/sad.   Gentle  my  lord,  turn  back. 

120.     glassy,     resembling     a  mirth  as  well  as  of  ill-humour, 
mirror  both  in  reflecting  power  132.   avised,  assured, 

and  in  frailty.  136.  skins,  covers  with  a  skin, 

122.     spleens.        The     spleen  142.    my  sense  breeds  -uiith  it, 

was  regarded  as  the   organ  of  it  begets  new  thoughts  in  me. 

272 


SC.  II 


Measure  for  Measure 


^ng.   I  will  bethink  me  :  come  agam  to-morrow. 

Isafi.   Hark  howJLiLbribe  _yp_,u  :  good  my  lord, 
turn  back. 

A//^.   How  !  bribe  me  ? 

Is(2L  Ay,  with  such  gifts  that  heaven  shall  share 
with  you. 

Z?/a'(->.   [Aside  to  Isah?\  You  had  marr'd  all  else, 

Isah.   Not  with  fond  shekels  of  the  tested  gold, 
Or  stones  whose  rates  are  either  rich  or  poor  150 

As  fancy  values  them  ;  but  with  true  prayers 
That  shall  be  up  at  heaven  and  enter  there 
Ere  sun-rise,  prayers  from  preserved  souls, 
From  fasting  maids  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal. 

Ang.  Well ;  come  to  me  to-morrow. 

Liicio.   [As/de  to  Isab.']    Go  to  ;  'tis  well ;  away  ! 

Isab.   Heaven  keep  your  honour  safe  !  ? 

Atig.  \Aside^^  Amen  : 

For  I  am  that  way  going  to  temptation,    "I 
Where  prayers  cross.  j 

Isab.  At  what  hour  to-morrow 

Shall  I  attend  your  lordship  ? 

Aug.  At  any  time  'fore  noon.  160 

Isab.   'Save  your  honour  1 

\Exeunt  Isabella,  lucio,  and  Provost 

Ang.  From  thee,  even  from  thy  virtue  1 

What 's  this,  what 's  this  ?     Is  this  her  fault  or  mine? 
The  tempter  or  the  tempted,  who  sins  most  ? 
Ha! 

Not  she  ;  nor  doth  she  tempt :  but  it  is  I 
That,  lying  by  the  violet  in  the  sun. 
Do  as  the  carrion  does,  not  as  the  flower, 

149.  fond,  foolishly  desired,      and  pronunciation  of  the  word, 
worthless.'"  159.     cross,    i.e.    cross    one's 

path,    bar    the    way ;     IsaV^el's 

149.  shekels,  in  the  Yi  sickles,      deferential  leave-taking  being  in 
the   usual   Elizabethan   spelling      effect  a  prayer  for  his  honour. 

VOL.  Ill  273  T 


J  r 


Measure  for  Measure  acth 

Corrupt  with  virtuous  season.  Can  it  be 
That  modesty  may  more  betray  our  sense 
Than  woman's  lightness?     Having  waste  ground 

enough,  170 

Shall  we  desire  to  raze  the  sanctuary 
And  pitch  our  evils  there  ?     O,  fie,  fie,  fie  ! 
What  dost  thou,  or  what  art  thou,  Angelo  ? 
Dost  thou  desire  her  foully  for  those  things 
That  make  her  good?     O,  let  her  brother  live  : 
Thieves  for  their  robbery  have  authority 
When  judges  steal  themselves.     What,  do  I  love 

her, 
That  I  desire  to  hear  her  speak  again. 
And  feast  upon  her  eyes  ?     What  is  't  I  dream  on  ? 
O  cunning  enemy,  that,  to  catch  a  saint,  180 

With  saints  dost  bait  thy  hook  !     Most  dangerous 
Is  that  temptation  t1iat  doth  goad  us  on 
To  sin  in  loving  virtue  :  never  could  the  strumpet, 
With  all  her  double  vigour,  art  and  nature. 
Once  stir  my  temper  ;  but  this  virtuous  maid  r 

Subdues  me  quite.      Ever  till  now,  » 

When   men  were   fond,    I   smiled    and   wonder'd 

how.  [Exit. 


Scene  III.     A  room  hi  a  prison. 

Enter,  severally,  Duke  disguised  as  a  friar, 
and  Provost. 

Dtike.  Hail  to  you,  provost !  so  I  think  you  are. 

Prov.   I    am    the    provost.     What's   your  will, 
good  friar? 

Duke.  Bound  by  my  charity  and  my  blest  order, 
I  come  to  visit  the  afflicted  spirits 
Here  in  the  prison.      Do  me  the  common  right 

172.  evils,  privies. 
274 


SC.  Ill 


Measure  for  Measure 


To  let  me  see  them  and  to  make  me  know 
The  nature  of  their  crimes,  that  I  may  minister 
To  them  accordingly. 

Prov.  I  would  do  more  than  that,  if  more  were 
needful. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Look,  here  comes  one  :  a  gentlewoman  of  mine,       lo 
Who,  falling  in  the  flaws  of  her  own  youth, 
Hath  blister'd  her  report :   she  is  with  child; 
And  he  that  got  it,  sentenced  ;  a  young  man 
More  fit  to  do  another  such  offence 
Than  die  for  this. 

Duke.   When  must  he  die? 

Prov.  As  I  do  think,  to-morrow. 

I  have  provided  for  you  :  stay  awhile,      \To  Juliet. 
And  you  shall  be  conducted. 

Duke.   Repent   you,   fair   one,    of  the   sin   you 
carry  ? 

Jul.   I  do  ;  and  bear  the  shame  most  patiently.      20 

Duke.   I  '11    teach   you    how  you   shall    arraign 
vour  conscience, 
And  try  your  penitence,  if  it  be  sound. 
Or  hollowly  put  on. 

Jul.  I  '11  gladly  learn. 

Duke.    Love  you  the  man  that  wrong'd  you? 

■Jul.   Yes,   as  I   love   the   woman   that   wrong'd 
him. 

Duke.   So  then  it   seems  your  most  offenceful 
act 
Was  mutually  committed  ? 

/?//.  Mutually. 

Duke.  .Then  was  your  sin  of  heavier  kind  than 
his. 

10.  jf?«^/«wo»?a«  (trisyllabic).       But  Warburton's  reading  .;?a»«« 

11.  flaws,  gusts,  violent  blasts.       is  very  probably  right. 


Measure  for  Measure 


ACT  II 


Jul.  I  do  confess  it,  and  repent  it,  father. 

Duke.  'Tis  meet  so,  daughter :  but  lest  you  do 
repent,  30 

As  that  the  sin  hath  brought  you  to  this  shame. 
Which    sorrow    is    always    toward    ourselves,    not 

heaven. 
Showing  we  would  not  spare  heaven  as  we  love  it, 
But  as  we  stand  in  fear, — 

Jul.   I  do  repent  me,  as  it  is  an  evil, 
And  take  the  shame  with  joy. 

Duke.  There  rest. 

Your  partner,  as  I  hear,  must  die  to-morrow, 
And  I  am  going  with  instruction  to  him. 
Grace  go  with  you,  Benedicite  !  \Exit. 

Jul.  Must  die  to-morrow  !     O  injurious  love,         40 
That  respites  me  a  life,  whose  very  comfort 
Is  still  a  dying  horror  ! 

Prov.  'Tis  pity  of  him.      \Exeunt. 


Scene  IV.     A  room  in  Angelo's  house. 

Enter  Angelo. 

Ang.   When  I  would  pray  and   think,   I  think 

and  pray 
To    several    subjects.      Heaven    hath    my    empty 

words ;  ^ 

Whilst  my  invention,  hearing  not  my  tongue, 
Anchors  on  Isabel  :   Heaven  in  my  mouth. 
As  if  I  did  but  only  chew  his  name ; 
And  in  my  heart  the  strong  and  swelling  evil 
Of  my  conception.     The  state,  whereon  I  studied, 
Is  like  a  good  thing,  being  often  read, 

40.    love,   the    indulgence   of      speare's  word, 
the  law.      But  law,  as  suggested 
by  Hanmer,  is  very  likely  Shake-  2.   several,  different. 

276 


SC.  IV 


Measure  for  Measure 


Grown  fear'd  and  tedious ;  yea,  my  gravity, 
Wherein — let  no  man  hear  me — I  take  pride,  lo 

Could  I  with  boot  change  for  an  idle  plume, 
Which  the  air  beats  for  vain.     O  place,  O  form, 
How  often  dost  thou  with  thy  case,  thy  habit, 
"Wrench  awe  from  fools  and  tie  the  wiser  souls 
To  thy  false  seeming  !     Blood,  thou  art  blood  : 
Let 's  write  good  angel  on  the  devil's  horn ; 
'Tis  not  the  devil's  crest. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

How  now  !  who  's  there  ? 

Serv.  One    Isabel,    a  sister,    desires    access    to 
you. 

Aug.     Teach   her  the  way.      \Exit  Serv?^     O 
heavens ! 
Why  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart,  20 

Making  both  it  unable  for  itself. 
And  dispossessing  all  my  other  parts 
Of  necessary  fitness  ? 

So  play  the  foolish  throngs  with  one  that  swoons ; 
Come  all  to  help  him,  and  so  stop  the  air 
By  which  he  should  revive  :  and  even  so 
The  general,  subject  to  a  well-wish 'd  king, 
Quit  their  own  part,  and  in  obsequious  fondness 
Crowd  to  his  presence,  where  their  untaught  love 
Must  needs  appear  offence. 

9.    fear'd    and   tedious.       If  legend ;   hence  Johnson's  read- 

this  is  right,  the  '  tedium  '  is  the  ing,   '  'Tis  yet  the  devil's  crest," 

reason  of  the  '  fear. '    "Qvil  fear'd  is  plausible. 

is  not  improbably  an  error  for  27.  7'^<'^f7z^r<7/,  the  populace. 

sear'd,  sered,  withered,  stale.  27-30.    Like  the  similar  pas- 

17.     '  l\ie    inscription    does  sage  in  i.    i.   68-71,  these  lines 

not  thereby  become  the  devil's  have  been  thought  to  offer  an 

badge.'     But  the  word    'crest'  apology    for    James's    haughty 

would  more  properly  include  the  demeanour    on    his   entry    into 

symbol  (the  horn)  as  well  as  the  England. 

277 


Measure  for  Measure  act  n 

Enter  Isabella. 

How  now,  fair  maid  ?   30 
Isab.   I  am  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 
Ang.   That   you   might    know   it,    would    much 
better  please  me 
Than  to  demand  what  'tis.     Your  brother  cannot 
live. 
Isab.   Even  so.      Heaven  keep  your  honour  ! 
Ang.   Yet  may  he  live  awhile  ;  and,  it  may  be, 
As  long  as  you  or  I :  yet  he  must  die. 
Isab.   Under  your  sentence? 
A)ig.  Yea. 

Isab.  When,    I    beseech   you  ?    that   in   his   re- 
prieve, 
Longer  or  shorter,  he  may  be  so  fitted  40 

That  his  soul  sicken  not. 

Ang.   Ha  !  fie,   these  filthy  vices  !     It  were  as 
good 
To  pardon  him  that  hath  fi-om  nature  stolen 
A  man  already  made,  as  to  remit 
Their  saucy  sweetness  that  do  coin  heaven's  image 
In  stamps  that  are  forbid  :  'tis  all  as  easy 
Falsely  to  take  away  a  life  true  made 
As  to  put  metal  in  restrained  means  •  '^ 

To  make  a  false  one. 

Isab.   'Tis  set   down  so  in  heaven,  but  not  in 

earth.  50 

Ang.   Say    you    so?    then    I    shall    pose    you 
quickly. 
Which  had  you  rather,  that  the  most  just  law 
Now  took  your  brother  's  life ;  or,  to  redeem  him, 

43.  nature,     the    world     of      saucily  indulged. 

living  things.  47.      Falsely,     by     forbidden 

44.  remit,  pardon.  means. 

45.  Their  saucy  sweetness,  the  48.      restrained    means,    for- 
sweet    pleasure    in    which    they  bidden  instruments. 

278 


SC.   IV 


Measure  for  Measure 


Give  up  your  body  to  such  sweet  uncleanness 
As  she  that  he  hath  stain'd  ? 

Isab.  Sir,  beUeve  this, 

I  had  rather  give  my  body  than  my  soul. 
■   Ang.   I  talk  not  of  your  soul :   our  compell'd  sins 
Stand  more  for  number  than  for  accompt. 

Isab.  How  say  you  ? 

Aug.   Nay,    I  '11    not   warrant    that ;    for   I   can 
speak 
Against  the  thing  I  say.     Answer  to  this  :  60 

I,  now  the  voice  of  the  recorded  law, 
Pronounce  a  sentence  on  your  brother's  life  : 
Might  there  not  be  a  charity  in  sin 
To  save  this  brother's  life  ? 

Isab.  Please  you  to  do 't, 

I  '11  take  it  as  a  peril  to  my  soul, 
It  is  no  sin  at  all,  but  charity. 

Ang.  Pleased  you  to  do 't  at  peril  of  your  soul, 
Were  equal  poise  of  sin  and  charity. 

Isab.   That  I  do  beg  his  life,  if  it  be  sin. 
Heaven  let  me  bear  it !  you  granting  of  my  suit,       70 
If  that  be  sin,  I  '11  make  it  my  morn  prayer 
To  have  it  added  to  the  faults  of  mine, 
And  nothing  of  your  answer. 

Ang.  Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Your    sense    pursues    not    mine :    either  you   are 

ignorant, 
Or  seem  so  craftily  ;  and  that 's  not  good. 

Isab.   Let  me  be  ignorant,  and  in  nothing  good. 
But  graciously  to  know  I  am  no  better. 

Ajig.   Thus    wisdom    wishes     to    appear    most 
bright 
When  it  doth  tax  itself;  as  these  black  masks 

58.    Stand  more  for  number  73.   nothing  of  your  answer^ 

than  for  accompt,  are  counted  but      not  to  be  answered  for  by  you. 
not  included  in  the  reckoning.  79.   tax,  reproach. 

279 


Measure  for  Measure  act  n 

Proclaim  an  enshield  beauty  ten  times  louder  So 

Than  beauty  could,  display'd.      But  mark  me  ; 
To  be  received  plain,  I  '11  speak  more  gross  : 
Your  brother  is  to  die. 

Isab.   So. 

Atig.   And  his  offence  is  so,  as  it  appears, 
Accountant  to  the  law  upon  that  pain. 

Jsab.  True. 

Aug.  x\dmit  no  other  way  to  save  his  life, — 
As  I  subscribe  not  that,  nor  any  other. 
But  in  the  loss  of  question, — that  you,  his  sister,       90 
Finding  yourself  desired  of  such  a  person, 
Whose  credit  with  the  judge,  or  own  great  place, 
Could  fetch  your  brother  from  the  manacles 
Of  the  all-building  law  ;  and  that  there  were 
No  earthly  mean  to  save  him,  but  that  either 
You  must  lay  down  the  treasures  of  your  body 
To  this  supposed,  or  else  to  let  him  suffer ; 
J^hat  would  you  do  ? 

Isab.   As  much  for  my  poor  brother  as  myself: 
That  is,  were  I  under  the  terms  of  death,  100 

The  impression  of  keen  whips  I  'Id  wear  as  rubies, 
And  strip  myself  to  death,  as  to  a  bed 
That  longing  have  been  sick  for,  ere  I  'Id  yield 
My  body  up  to  shame. 

Ang.  Then  must  your  brother  die. 

Isab.   And  'twere  the  cheaper  way  : 
Better  it  were  a  brother  died  at  once, 


80.   enshield,  hidden.  making  my  point  clear. 

82.  re'iTf/wi^t/,  conceived,  under-  94.      all -building    law,    law 

stood.  which   shapes   the   social   struc- 

S6.  upon  that  pain,  under  i\\3X  ture.      But  the  context  concerns 

penalty.  the  restrictive,  not  the  creative, 

89.  As,  though.  function  of  law ;  and  Theobald's 

90.  in  the  loss  of  question,  in  all-binding  is  plausible. 

the   embarrassment    of    discus-  103.    have,    I    have.       Rowe 

sion  ;    simply    as    a    means    of  printed  '  I 've.' 

280 


SC.  IV 


Measure  for  Measure 


Than  that  a  sister,  by  redeeming  him, 
Should  die  for  ever. 

Af!g.  Were  not  you  then  as  cruel  as  the  sentence 
That  you  have  slander'd  so  ?  |    3 

Isai.   Ignomy  in  ransom  and  free  pardon        | 
Are  of  two  houses  :  lawful^iercy  | 

Is  nothing  kin  to  fot^^i^.'^mption,  \ 

^TFIg7'Yo^i'°seern'd   of  late  to  make  the   law  a 
tyrant ; 
And  rather  proved  the  sliding  of  your  brother 
A  merriment  than  a  vice. 

Isa^.   O,  pardon  me,  my  lord  ;  it  oft  falls  out, 
To  have  what  we  would  have,  we  speak  not  what 

we  mean  : 
I  something  do  excuse  the  thing  I  hate, 
For  his  advantage  that  I  dearly  love. 

Af/g.   We  are  all  frail, 

Isak  Else  let  my  brother  die, 

If  not  a  foedary,  but  only  he 
Owe  and  succeed  this  weakness. 

Ang.   Nay,  women  are  frail  too. 

Isal>.  Ay,  as  the  glasses  where  they  view  them- 
selves ; 
Which  are  as  easy  broke  as  they  make  forms. 
Women  !     Help  Heaven  !  men  their  creation  mar 


III.     Ignomy,     ignominy    (a  succeed "),  then  let  him  die.' 

common  Shakespearean  form).  123.    this.    Yithy.    But  Isabel 

122.    foedary,     associate    (in  cannot  possibly   use  to  Angelo 

'frailty').        Both     sense     and  the  familiar  '  thou,' nor,  at  this 

metre  support    this  word    (used  stage,    the    scornful    '  thou '    of 

also  in  Cymb.  iii.  2.  21)  against  v.  151  f.      'This'  was  proposed 

the  feodary  of  Y^,  3,  4,  adopted  by  Malone. 

in  most  rnodern  editions.      Isa-  125.   The  comparison  is  pro- 

bel    means  :      '  If    my    brother  verbial :    '  Glasses  and  lasses  are 

stands  alone  in  this  frailty  you  brittle  ware  '    (Hazlitt,   English 

attribute  to  us  all, — if  no  mortal  Proverbs). 

else    have   rights   of   ownership  127.     their    creation,     those 

and  succession  in  it  ( "  owe  and  whom  they  create. 

281 


Measure  for  Measure         act  n 

In  profiting  by  them.     Nay,  call  us  ten  times  frail ; 
Fur  we  are  soft  as  our  complexions  are, 
And  credulous  to  false  prints. 

Ang.  I  think  it  well :      130 

And  from  this  testimony  of  your  own  sex, — 
Since  I  suppose  we  are  made  to  be  no  stronger 
Than  faults  may  shake  our   frames, — let   me   be 

bold; 
I  do  arrest  your  words.     Be  that  you  are, 
That  is,  a  woman  ;  if  you  be  more,  you  're  none ; 
If  you  be  one,  as  you  are  well  express'd 
By  all  external  warrants,  show  it  now. 
By  putting  on  the  destined  livery. 

Isa^.   1  have  no  tongue  but  one  :  gentle  my  lord. 
Let  me  entreat  you  speak  the  former  language.        140 

Ang.  Plainly  conceive,  I  love  you. 

Isad.   My  brother  did  love  Juliet, 
And  you  tell  me  that  he  shall  die  for  it. 

Ang.   He  shall  not,  Isabel,  if  you  give  me  love. 

Isai?.   I  know  your  virtue  hath  a  license  in  't, 
Which  seems  a  little  fouler  than  it  is. 
To  pluck  on  others. 

Ang.  Believe  me,  on  mine  honour. 

My  words  express  my  purpose. 

/sad.   Ha  !  little  honour  to  be  much  believed, 
And  most  pernicious  purpose  !    Seeming,  seeming!  150 
I  will  proclaim  thee,  Angelo  ;  look  for 't : 
Sign  me  a  present  pardon  for  my  brother, 
Or  with  an  outstretch'd  throat  I  '11  tell  the  world 

aloud 
What  man  thou  art. 

Ang.  Who  will  believe  thee,  Isabel? 

My  unsoil'd  name,  the  austereness  of  my  life, 
My  vouch  against  you,  and  my  jilace  i'  the  state, 
Will  so  your  accusation  overweigh, 

130.  prints,  impressions. 
282 


SC.  IV 


Measure  for  Measure 


That  you  shall  stifle  in  your  own  report 
And  smell  of  calumny.  I  have  begun, 
And  now  I  give  my  sensual  race  the  rein  :  x6o 

Fit  thy  consent  to  my  sharp  appetite ; 
Lay  by  all  nicety  and  prolixious  blushes, 
That  banish  what  they  sue  for  ;  redeem  thy  brother 
By  yielding  up  thy  body  to  my  will ; 
Or  else  he  must  not  only  die  the  death, 
But  thy  unkindness  shall  his  death  draw  out 
To  lingering  sufferance.      Answer  me  to-morrow, 
Or,  by  the  affection  that  now  guides  me  most, 
I  '11  prove  a  tyrant  to  him.      As  for  you. 
Say  what  you  can,  my  false  o'erweighs  your  true.     170 

{Exit. 
Isah.    To . whom_should   I   complain?     Did   I 
tell  this, 
Wl^o  would  believe  me  ?     O  perilous  mouths, 
That  bear  in  them  one  and  the  self-same  tongue. 
Either  of  condemnation  or  approof ; 
Bidding  the  law  make  court'sy  to  their  will ; 
Hooking  both  right  and  wrong  to  the  appetite. 
To  follow  as  it  draws  !     I  '11  to  my  brother  : 
Though  he  hath  fall'n  by  prompture  of  the  blood, 
Yet  hath  he  in  him  such  a  mind  of  honour, 
That,  had  he  twenty  heads  to  tender  down  180 

On  twenty  bloody  blocks,  he 'Id  yield  them  up. 
Before  his  sister  should  her  body  stoop 
To  such  abhorr'd  pollution. 
Then,  Isabel,  live  chaste,  and,  brother,  die : 
More  than  our  brother  is  our  chastity. 
I  '11  tell  him  yet  of  Angelo's  request. 
And  fit  his  mind  to  death,  for  his  soul's  rest.    \Exit. 

160.   race,  disposition.  172.  The  apparently  defective 

scansion    is    explained    by   the 
162.  prohxtous,   superfluous.      gn^phatic  pause  and   the  inter- 
urelevant.  jection'O.'    Walker  proposed  : 

i68.  a^<r/w«,  impulse.  '  O  pernicious  mouths. ' 

283 


Measure  for  Measure        actih 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I.     A  room  in  the  prison. 

Enter  Duke  disguised  as  i>e/ore,  Claudio, 
a/id  Provost. 

Duke.  So  then  you  hope  of  pardon  from  Lord 

Angelo  ? 
Claud.  The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine 
But  only  hope  : 
I  've  hope  to  live,  and  am  prepared  to  die. 

Duke.    Be    absolute    for   death;    either    death 

or  life 
Shall  thereby  be  the  sweeter.     Reason  thus  with 

life: 
If  I  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thing 
That  none  but  fools  would  keep  :  a  breath  thou 

art, 
Servile  to  all  the  skyey  influences. 
That  dost  this  habitation,  where  thou  keep'st,  lo 

Hourly  afflict :  merely,  thou__art  death^  fool^j 
For  him  thou  labour'st  by  thy  flight  to  shun 
And  yet  runn'st  toward  him  still.     Thou  art  not 

noble ; 
For  all  the  accommodations  that  thou  bear'st 
Are  nursed  by  baseness.     Thou'rt  by  no  means 

valiant ; 
For  thou  dost  fear  the  soft  and  tender  fork 
Of  a  poor  worm.     Thy  best  of  rest  is  sleep. 
And  that  thou  oft  provokest ;  yet  grossly  fear'st 
Thy  death,  which  is  no  more.    Thou  art  not  thyself; 

II.   wjer^/y,  absolutely.  15.  nursed  by  baseness,  A\xq.\q 

14,  accommodations,  comforts.      the  labour  of  mean  men. 

284 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

For  thou  exist'st  on  many  a  thousand  grains  so 

That  issue  out  of  dust.      Happy  thou  art  not ; 
For  what    thou   hast    not,   still    thou    strivest    to 

get, 
And    what    thou    hast,    forget'st.     Thou    art    not 

certain  ; 
For  thy  complexion  shifts  to  strange  effects. 
After  the  moon.      If  thou  art  rich,  thou  'rt  poor; 
For,  like  an  ass  whose  back  with  ingots  bows, 
Thou  bear'st  thy  heavy  riches  but  a  journey, 
And  death  unloads  thee.      Friend  hast  thou  none; 
For  thine  own  bowels,  which  do  call  thee  sire, 
The  mere  effusion  of  thy  proper  loins,  30 

Do  curse  the  gout,  serpigo,  and  the  rheum. 
For  ending  thee  no  sooner.      Thou  hast  nor  youth 

nor  age. 
But,  as  it  were,  an  after-ditmer's  sleep. 
Dreaming  on  both ;  for  all  thy  blessed  youth 
Becomes  as  aged,  and  doth  beg  the  alms 
Of  palsied  eld ;  and  when  thou  art  old  and  rich, 
Thou  hast  neither  heat,  affection,  limb,  nor  beauty, 
To  make  thy  riches  pleasant.     What 's  yet  in  this 
That  bears  the  name  of  life  ?     Yet  in  this  life 
Lie  hid  moe  thousand  deaths  :  yetjdeath  we  fear,     40 
That  makes  these  odds  all  even. 

Claud.  I  humbly  thank  you. 

To  sue  to  live,  I  find  I  seek  to  die ; 
And,  seeking  death,  find  life  :  let  it  come  on. 
Isab.   [Jl'Mm]  What,  ho!     Peace  here;  grace 

and  good  company  ! 
Pfov.    Who 's   there  ?    come  in  :    the  wish  de- 
serves a  welcome. 

23.  Certain,  stable.  35.   Becomes  as   aged,    suffers 

24.  effects,    outward,    visible      privations    through   poverty,   as 
symptoms.  age  through  failing  strength. 

31.    serpigo,    an  eruption    of  40.   moe  thousand,  a  thousand 

the  skin.  more. 

285 


Measure  for  Measure         act  m 

Duke.   Dear  sir,  ere  long  I  '11  visit  you  again. 
Claud.   Most  holy  sir,  I  thank  you. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Isab.     My    business    is    a    word    or    two    with 

Claudio. 
Prov.     And    very    welcome.       Look,     signior, 

here  's  your  sister. 
Duke.   Provost,  a  word  with  3'ou.  50 

Prov.   As  many  as  you  please. 
Duke.    Bring  me  to  hear  them  speak,  where  I 
may  be  concealed.         \Exeunt  Duke  a?id  Provost. 
Claud.   Now,  sister,  what 's  the  comfort  ? 
Isab.  Why, 

As  all  comforts  are  ;  most  good,  most  good  indeed. 
Lord  Angelo,  having  affairs  to  heaven, 
Intends  you  for  his  swift  ambassador. 
Where  you  shall  be  an  everlasting  leiger : 
Therefore  your  best  appointment  make  with  speed;   60 
To-morrow  you  set  on. 

Claud.  Is  there  no  remedy  ? 

,;  Isab.  None,    but    such    remedy   as,   to.  save   a 

\j#  head, 

*  To  cleave  a  heart  in  twain. 

Claud.  But  is  there  any  ? 

Isab.   Yes,  brother,  you  may  live  : 
'         There  is  a  devilish  mercy  in  the  judge. 

If  you  '11  implore  it,  that  will  free  your  life, 
But  fetter  you  till  death. 

Claud.  Perpetual  durance  ? 

Isab.   Ay,  just ;  perpetual  durance,  a  restraint. 
Though  all  the  world's  vastidity  you  had, 

59.     leiger,     resident.        The      occasion, 
term  was  technically  applied  to  60.   appointment,  equipment, 

ambassadors  who    '  lay,'    or   re-  69.     vastidity,    vastness    (ap- 

sided,    long    at    one    place,    as      parently     Shakespeare's      coin- 
opposed  to  envoys  for  a  special      age). 

286 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

To  a  determined  scope. 

Claud.  But  in  what  nature  ?  70 

Isab.   In  such  a  one  as,  you  consenting  to  't, 
Would  bark  your   honour  from   that    trunk    you 

bear 
And  leave  you  naked. 

Claud.  Let  me  know  the  point. 

Isab.  O,  I  do  fear  thee,  Claudio ;  and  I  quake, 
Lest  thou  a  feverous  life  shouldst  entertain. 
And  six  or  seven  winters  more  respect 
Than  a  perpetual  honour.      Barest  thou  die  ? 
The  sense  of  death  is  most  in  apprehension ; 
And  the  poor  beetle,  that  we  tread  upon. 
In  corporal  sufferance  finds  a  pang  as  great  80 

As  when  a  giant  dies. 

Claud.  Why  give  you  me  this  shame  ? 

Think  you  I  can  a  resolution  fetch 
From  flowery  tenderness  ?     If  I  must  die, 
I  will  encounter  darkness  as  a  bride, 
And  hug  it  in  mine  arms. 

Isab.   There  spake  my  brother ;  there  my  father's 
grave 
Did  utter  forth  a  voice.      Yes,  thou  must  die  : 
Thou  art  too  noble  to  conserve  a  life 
In  base  apphances.     This  outward-sainted  deputy, 
Whose  settled  visage  and  deliberate  word  90 

Nips  youth  i'  the  head  and  follies  doth  emmew 
As  falcon  doth  the  fowl,  is  yet  a  devil ; 

70.   a    determined    scope,  de-  i.e.  do  you  think  that,  to  make 

fined  bounds.  me  resolute,  I  must  be  treated 

72.   bnrk,  strip.  with    this    tender    consideration 

74.  fear  thee,  fear  for  thee.  for  my  supposed  weakness  ? 

79-81.  The  point  of  the  com-  88.    conserve,  t^x&s&xvq. 

parison   is- not    that    the    beetle  %^.  Inbase appliances,hY\)ZS.Q 

feels  as  much  as  the  giant,  but  means. 

that  the  giant  feels  no  more  than  91.    emmew,   coop  up,   force 

the  beetle.  to  hide  themselves  (a  technical 

83.   From  Jlowery  tenderness,  term  of  falconry). 

287 


Measure  for  Measure  act  m 

His  filth  within  being  cast,  he  would  appear 
A  pond  as  deep  as  hell. 

Claud.  The  prenzie  Angelo  ! 

Isab.   O,  'tis  the  cunning  livery  of  hell, 
The  damned'st  body  to  invest  and  cover 
In  prenzie  guards  !     Dost  thou  think,  Claudio  ? 
If  I  would  yield  him  my  virginity, 
Thou  mightst  be  freed. 

Claud.  O  heavens  !  it  cannot  be. 

Isab.  Yes,  he  would  give  't  thee,  from  this  rank 
offence,  loo 

So  to  offend  him  still.      This  night 's  the  time 
That  I  should  do  what  I  abhor  to  name, 
Or  else  thou  diest  to-morrow. 

Claud.  Thou  shalt  not  do 't. 

Isab.   O,  were  it  but  my  life, 
I  'Id  throw  it  down  for  your  deliverance 
As  frankly  as  a  pin. 

Claud.  Thanks,  dear  Isabel. 

Isab.    Be    ready,    Claudio,   for  your   death   to- 
morrow. 

Claud.   Yes.      Has  he  affections  in  him, 
That  thus  can  make  him  bite  the  law  by  the  nose, 
When  he  would  force  it  ?     Sure,  it  is  no  sin ;  no 

Or  of  the  deadly  seven  it  is  the  least. 

Isab.   Which  is  the  least? 

Claud.   If  it  were  damnable,  he  being  so  wise. 
Why  would  he  for  the  momentary  trick 
Be  perdurably  fined  ?     O  Isabel  1 

Isab.  What  says  my  brother  ? 

Claud.  Death  is  a  fearful  thing. 

Isab.  And  shamed  life  a  hateful. 

Claud.  Ay,  but  to  die,  and  go  we  know  not  where; 

93.  cast,  cast  up,  vomited.  108.   affections,  passions. 

94.  premie,  prim. 

97.  guards,  facings.  114.   trick,  caprice. 

288 


SC.  I 


Pvleasure  for  Measure 


To  lie  in  cold  obstruction  and  to  rot ; 

This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become  jso 

A  kneaded  clod ;  and  the  delighted  spirit 

To  bathe  in  fiery  floods,  or  to  reside 

In  thrilling  region  of  thick-ribbed  ice  ; 

To  be  imprison'd  in  the  viewless  winds, 

And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 

The  pendent  world ;  or  to  be  worse  than  worst 

Of  those  that  lawless  and  incertain  thought 

Imagine  howling  :   'tis  too  horrible  ! 

The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life 

That  age,  ache,  penury  and  imprisonment  130 

Can  lay  on  nature  is  a  paradise 

To  what  we  fear  of  death. 

Isab.   Alas,  alas  ! 

Claud.  Sweet  sister,  let  me  live  : 

What  sin  you  do  to  save  a  brother's  life, 
Nature  dispenses  with  the  deed  so  far 
That  it  becomes  a  virtue. 

Isab.  O  you  beast  ! 

O  faithless  coward  !     O  dishonest  wretch  ! 
Wilt  thou  be  made  a  man  out  of  my  vice  ? 
Is  't  not  a  kind  of  incest,  to  take  life 
From  thine  own  sister's  shame?     What  should  I 

think  ?  140 

Heaven  shield  my  mother  play'd  my  father  fair ! 
For  such  a  warped  slip  of  wilderness 
Ne'er  issued  from  his  blood.     Take  my  defiance  ! 
Die,  perish  !     Might  but  my  bending  down 
Reprieve  thee  from  thy  fate,  it  should  proceed  : 

121.   delighted,  habituated  to  135.   dispe?ises  with,  excuses, 

delight.  141.   shield,  forefend.      '  God 


123.  thrilling,  ■p\Grcin^yco\d. 


forbid  that  my  mother  was  true 
to  my  father,"  i.e.  avert  that  you 
127.   incertain,  not  subjected      should  be  his  son. 

to  the  control  of  definite  know-  142.   slip  of  wilderness,  wild 

ledge.  slip. 

VOL.  Ill  289  U 


Measure  for  Measure         acthi 

I  '11  pray  a  thousand  prayers  for  thy  death, 
No  word  to  save  thee. 

Claud.  Nay,  hear  me,  Isabel. 

Isab.  O,  fie,  fie,  fie  ! 

Thy  sin  's  not  accidental,  but  a  trade. 
Mercy  to  tliee  would  prove  itself  a  bawd  :  150 

'Tis  best  that  thou  diest  quickly. 

Claud.  O  hear  me,  Isabella ! 

Re-enter  Duke, 

Duke.  Vouchsafe  a  word,  young  sister,  but  one 
word. 

Isab.   What  is  your  will  ? 

Duke.  Might  you  dispense  with  your  leisure, 
I  would  by  and  by  have  some  speech  with  you  : 
the  satisfaction  I  would  require  is  likewise  your 
own  benefit. 

Isab.  I  have  no  superfluous  leisure  ;  my  stay 
must  be  stolen  out  of  other  affairs ;  but  I  will 
attend  you  awhile.  [  Walks  apart.  i6o 

Duke.  Son,  I  have  overheard  what  hath  passed 
between  you  and  your  sister.  Angelo  had  never 
the  purpose  to  corrupt  her ;  only  he  hath  made 
an  assay  of  her  virtue  to  practise  his  judgement 
with  the  disposition  of  natures  :  she,  having  the 
truth  of  honour  in  her,  hath  made  him  that 
gracious  denial  which  he  is  most  glad  to  receive. 
I  am  confessor  to  Angelo,  and  I  know  this  to  be 
true  ;  therefore  prepare  yourself  to  death  :  do  not 
satisfy  your  resolution  with  hopes  that  are  fal-  170 
lible  :  to-morrow  you  must  die ;  go  to  your  knees 
and  make  ready. 

Claud.  Let  me  ask  my  sister  pardon.  I  am 
so  out  of  love  with  life  that  I  will  sue  to  be  rid 
of  it. 

290 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

Duke.  Hold  you  there :  farewell.  \Exit 
Claudia.^     Provost,  a  word  with  you  ! 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Frov.  What 's  your  will,  father  ? 

Duke.     That  now  you   are   come,  you  will   be 
gone.      Leave    me    awhile    with    the    maid :     my  iSo 
mind  promises  with  my  habit  no  loss  shall  touch 
her  by  my  company. 

Frov.   In  good  time. 

\^Exit  Provost.     Isabella  comes  forward. 

Duke.  The  hand  that  hath  made  you  fair 
hath  made  you  good  :  the  goodness  that  is  cheap 
in  beauty  makes  beauty  brief  in  goodness ;  but 
grace,  being  the  soul  of  your  complexion,  shall 
keep  the  body  of  it  ever  fair.  The  assault  that 
Angelo  hath  made  to  you,  fortune  hath  conveyed 
to  my  understanding ;  and,  but  that  frailty  hath  190 
examples  for  his  falling,  I  should  wonder  at 
Angelo.  How  will  you  do  to  content  this  sub- 
stitute, and  to  save  your  brother? 

Isab.  I  am  now  going  to  resolve  him  :  I  had 
rather  my  brother  die  by  the  law  than  my  son 
should  be  unlawfully  born.  But,  O,  how  much 
is  the  good  duke  deceived  in  Angelo  !  If  ever 
he  return  and  I  can  speak  to  him,  I  will  open 
my  lips  in  vain,  or  discover  his  government. 

Duke.  That  shall  not  be  much  amiss  :   yet,  as  200 
the  matter  now  stands,  he  will  avoid  your  accu- 
sation ;   he   made   trial   of  you   only.      Therefore 
fasten  your  ear  on  my  advisings  :   to  the  love  I 

183.   In  'good   time,    Fr.    'a  goodness    is    not    the    soul    of 

la    bonne    heure,'     good,    very  beauty,    but    its    slighted    and 

well.  vendible  accompaniment,  beauty 

185  f.    the   goodness    that    is  itself  is  fugitive." 
cheap  in   beauty,    etc.,    'When  199.   discover,  disclose. 

291 


Measure  for  Measure         act  m 

have  in  doing  good  a  remedy  presents  itself.  I 
do  make  myself  believe  that  you  may  most  up- 
righteously  do  a  poor  wronged  lady  a  merited 
benefit ;  redeem  your  brother  from  the  angry 
law ;  do  no  stain  to  your  own  gracious  person ; 
and  much  please  the  absent  duke,  if  peradven- 
ture  he  shall  ever  return  to  have  hearing  of  this  210 
business. 

Isab.  Let  me  hear  you  speak  farther.  I  have 
spirit  to  do  any  thing  that  appears  not  foul  in  the 
truth  of  my  spirit. 

Duke.  Virtue  is  bold,  and  goodness  never 
fearful.  Have  you  not  heard  speak  of  Mariana, 
the  sister  of  Frederick  the  great  soldier  who  mis- 
carried at  sea  ? 

Isab.  I  have  heard  of  the  lady,  and  good 
words  went  with  her  name.  220 

Duke.  She  should  this  Angelo  have  married ; 
was  affianced  to  her  by  oath,  and  the  nuptial 
appointed  :  between  which  time  of  the  contract 
and  limit  of  the  solemnity,  her  brother  Frederick 
was  wrecked  at  sea,  having  in  that  perished  vessel 
the  dowry  of  his  sister.  But  mark  how  heavily 
this  befell  to  the  poor  gentlewoman  :  there  she 
lost  a  noble  and  renowned  brother,  in  his  love 
toward  her  ever  most  kind  and  natural ;  with  him, 
the  portion  and  sinew  of  her  fortune,  her  marriage-  230 
dowry ;  with  both,  her  combinate  husband,  this 
well-seeming  Angelo. 

Isab.   Can  this  be  so  ?  did  Angelo  so  leave  her  ? 

Duke.  Left  her  in  her  tears,  and  dried  not  one  of 
them  with  his  comfort ;  swallowed  his  vows  whole, 
pretending  in  her  discoveries  of  dishonour :  in 
\^\\^  bestowed  her  on  her  own  lamentation,  which 

205.   uprighteously ,  uprightly.  224.   limit,  date. 

231.  combinate,  betrothed. 

202 


SC.   I 


Measure  for  Measure 


she  yet  wears  for  his  sake  ;  and  he,  a  marble  to 
her  tears,  is  washed  with  them,  but  relents  not. 

Isab.    What  a  merit  were  it   in  death  to  take  240 
this  poor  maid  from  the  world  !     What  corruption 


in  this  life,  that  it  will  let  this   man  live  !     But 
how  out  of  this  can  she  avail  ? 

Duke.  It  is  a  rupture  that  you  may  easily 
heal  :  and  the  cure  of  it  not  only  saves  your 
brother,  but  keeps  you  from  dishonour  in  doing  it. 

Isab.  Show  me  how,  good  father. 

Duke.  This  forenamed  maid  hath  yet  in  her 
the  continuance  of  her  first  affection  :  his  unjust 
unkindness,  that  in  all  reason  should  have  quenched  250 
her  love,  hath,  like  an  impediment  in  the  current, 
made  it  more  violent  and  unruly.  Go  you  to 
Angelo ;  answer  his  requiring  with  a  plausible 
obedience ;  agree  with  his  demands  to  the  point ; 
only  refer  yourself  to  this  advantage,  first,  that 
your  stay  with  him  may  not  be  long ;  that  the 
time  may  have  all  shadow  and  silence  in  it ;  and 
the  piace  answer  to  convenience.  This  being 
granted  in  course, — and  now  follovv's  all, — we 
shall  advise  this  wronged  maid  to  stead  up  your  260 
appointment,  go  in  your  place ;  if  the  encounter 
acknowledge  itself  hereafter,  it  may  compel  him 
to  her  recompense  :  and  here,  by  this,  is  your 
brother  saved,  your  honour  untainted,  the  poor 
Mariana  advantaged,  and  the  corrupt  deputy 
scaled.  The  maid  will  I  frame  and  make  fit  for 
his  attempt.  If  you  think  well  to  carry  this  as 
you  may,  the  doubleness  of  the  beneiit_dejends 
the  deceit  from  reproof     IMiat  think  you  of  it  ? 

243.   avail,  derive  advantage.  266.  scaled,  weighed  ;  tried  in 

260.   stead    up  your  appoint-  the  balance. 
ment,  supply  the  place  you  have 
engaged  to  fill.  266.  frame,  prepare. 

293 


Measure  for  Measure        act  m 

Isab.   The  image  of  it  gives  me  content  already  ;  270 
and    I    trust    it   will   grow  to  a  most  prosperous 
perfection. 

Duke.  It  lies  much  in  your  holding  up.  Haste 
you  speedily  to  Angelo :  if  for  this  night  he  en- 
treat you  to  his  bed,  give  him  promise  of  satisfac- 
tion. I  will  presently  to  Saint  Luke's  :  there,  at 
the  moated  grange,  resides  this  dejected  jN'Iariana. 
At  that  place  call  upon  me ;  and  dispatch  with 
Angelo,  that  it  may  be  quickly. 

Isab.   I  thank  you  for  this  comfort.     Fare  you  280 
well,  good  father.  \Exeunt  severally. 


Scene  II.      The  street  before  the  prison. 

Enter,  on  one  side,  Duke  disguised  as  before  ;  on 
the  other,  Elbow,  and  Officers  with  Pompey. 

Elb.  Nay,  if  there  be  no  remedy  for  it,  but 
that  you  will  needs  buy  and  sell  men  and  women 
like  beasts,  we  shall  have  all  the  world  drink 
brown  and  white  bastard. 

JDuke.   O  heavens  !  what  stuff  is  here  ? 

Font.  'Twas  never  merry  world  since,  of  two 
usuries,  the  merriest  was  put  down,  and  the  worser 
allowed  by  order  of  law  a  furred  gown  to  keep  him 
warm  ;  and  furred  with  fox  and  lamb-skins  too,  to 
signify,  that  craft,  being  richer  than  innocency,  10 
stands  for  the  facing. 

Sc.ii.  In  F  there  is  no  change  merchants.     The  gown  is  repre- 

of  scene.  sented  as  faced  with  foxskin  for 

4.    bastard,    a    sweet  Spanish  '  craft,'  and  lined  with  lambskin 

wine.  for  '  innocency.'      Singer  quotes 

J  i.    the  worser,    i.e.    money-  from  Characterismi,   1631:    'A 

lending.     The  furred  gown  was  usurer  is  an  old  fox  clad  in  lamb- 

coniinonly  worn   by  substantial  skin." 

294 


SC.  II 


Measure  for  Measure 


Elb.  Come  your  way,  sir.  'Bless  you,  good 
father  friar. 

Duke.  And  you,  good  brother  father.  What 
offence  hath  this  man  made  you,  sir? 

Elb.  Marry,  sir,  he  hath  offended  the  law: 
and,  sir,  we  take  him  to  be  a  thief  too,  sir;  for 
we  have  found  upon  him,  sir,  a  strange  picklock, 
which  we  have  sent  to  the  deputy. 

Duke.  Fie,  sirrah  !  a  bawd,  a  wicked  bawd !  20 

The  evil  that  thou  causest  to  be  done, 
That  is  thy  means  to  live.     Do  thou  but  think 
What  'tis  to  cram  a  maw  or  clothe  a  back 
From  such  a  filthy  vice  :  say  to  thyself, 
From  their  abominaVjle  and  beastly  touches 
I  drink,  I  eat,  array  myself,  and  live. 
Canst  thou  believe  thy  living  is  a  life, 
So  stinkingly  depending  ?     Go  mend,  go  mend. 

Pom.  Indeed,  it  does  stink  in  some  sort,  sir; 
but  yet,  sir,  I  would  prove —  3° 

Duke.   Nay,  if  the  devil  have  given  thee  proofs 
for  sin, 
Thou  wilt  prove  his.      Take  him  to  prison,  officer: 
Correction  and  instruction  must  both  work 
Ere  this  rude  beast  will  profit. 

Elb.  He  must  before  the  deputy,  sir;  he  has 
given  him  warning  :  the  deputy  cannot  abide  a 
whoremaster  :  if  he  be  a  whoremonger,  and  comes 
before  him,  he  were  as  good  go  a  mile  on  his 
errand. 

Dtike.  That  we  were  all,  as  some  would  seem 
to  be,  ^        40 

From  our  faults,  as  faults  from  seeming,  free !  '"• 

14.  good  brother  father.     This  40,  41.    'Would  we  were  all 

joke  suggests  that  the  word /r?ar  as  free  from  faults  as  some  men 

still  carried  the  associations  of  are  from  seeming  faulty  1 ' 
'  brother. ' 

295 


Measure  for  Measure        act  m 

Elb.    His   neck  will  come   to   your  waist, — a 

cord,  sir. 
Pom.    I    spy  comfort ;    I  cry   bail.      Here 's  a 
gentleman  and  a  friend  of  mine. 


Enter  Lucio. 

Lucio.  How  now,  noble  Pompey !  What,  at 
the  wheels  of  Caesar?  art  thou  led  in  triumph? 
What,  is  there  none  of  Pygmalion's  images,  newly 
made  woman,  to  be  had  now,  for  j)utting  the  hand 
in  the  pocket  and  extracting  it  clutched  ?  What 
reply,  ha?  What  sayest  thou  to  this  tune,  matter  so 
and  method  ?  Is  't  not  drowned  i'  the  last  rain, 
ha  ?  What  sayest  thou,  Trot  ?  Is  the  world  as  it 
was,  man?  Which  is  the  way?  Is  it  sad,  and 
few  words  ?  or  how  ?     The  trick  of  it  ? 

Duke.   Still  thus,  and  thus  ;  still  v.-orse  ! 

Lucio.  How  doth  my  dear  morsel,  thy  mistress  ? 
Procures  she  still,  ha? 

Pom.  Troth,  sir,  she  hath  eaten  up  all  her  beef, 
and  she  is  herself  in  the  tub. 

Lucio.   Why,  'tis  good ;    it  is   the  right   of   it ;   60 
it  must  be  so  :  ever  your  fresh  whore  and  your 
powdered  bawd  :  an  unshunned  consequence ;  it 
must  be  so.      Art  going  to  prison,  Pompey  ? 

Pom.   Yes,  faith,  sir. 

Lucio.  Why,  'tis  not  amiss,  Pompey.  Farewell : 
go  say  I  sent  thee  thither.  For  debt,  Pompey? 
or  how  ? 

Elb.   For  being  a  bawd,  for  being  a  bawd. 

Lucio.  Well,   then,  imprison  him  :    if  imprison- 
ment be  the  due  of  a  bawd,  why,  'tis  his  right :   70 
bawd  is  he  doubtless,  and  of  antiquity  too  ;  bawd- 

52.    Trot,  name  for  a  decrepit  old  woman. 
62.   unshunned,  inevitable. 

296 


sc.  II  Measure  for  Measure 

born.  Farewell,  good  Pompey.  Commend  me  to 
the  prison,  Pompey  :  you  will  turn  good  husband 
now,  Pompey  ;  you  will  keep  the  house. 

Pom.  I  hope,  sir,  your  good  worship  will  be 
my  bail. 

Lucio.   No,  indeed,  will  I  not,   Pompey ;    it  is 
not  the  wear.      I   will  pray,   Pompey,  to   increase 
your  bondage  :   if  you  take  it  not  patiently,  why, 
your  mettle  is  the  more.     Adieu,  trusty  Pompey.    80 
'Bless  you,  friar. 

Duke.  And  you. 

Lucio.   Does  Bridget  paint  still,  Pompey,  ha  ? 

Elb.   Come  your  ways,  sir ;  come. 

Pom.   You  will  not  bail  me,  then,  sir  ? 

Lucio.  Then,  Pompe}',  nor  now.  What  news 
abroad,  friar?  what  news? 

Elb.   Come  your  ways,  sir ;  come. 

Lucio.    Go  to  kennel,  Pompey ;    go.     \Exeunt 
Elbo7v^  Pompey  and  Officers?^     ^^^hat  news,   friar,    90 
of  the  duke  ? 

Duke.   I  know  none.     Can  you  tell  me  of  any  ? 

Lucio.  Some  say  he  is  with  the  Emperor  of 
Russia ;  other  some,  he  is  in  Rome  :  but  where  is 
he,  think  you  ? 

Duke.  I  know  not  where ;  but  wheresoever,  I 
wish  him  well. 

Lucio.   It  was  a  mad  fantastical  trick  of  him  to 
steal  from    the   state,   and   usurp   the    beggary  he 
was   never  born  to.      Lord  Angelo  dukes  it  well  100 
in  his  absence  ;  he  puts  transgression  to 't. 

Duke.   He  does  well  in 't. 

Lucio.  A  little  more  lenity  to  lechery  would 
do  no  harpi  in  him  :  something  too  crabbed  that 
way,  friar. 

78.   -wear,  dress,  fashion. 
86.    Then  nor  now,  neither  then  nor  now. 

297 


Measure  for  Measure         act  m 

Duke.  It  is  too  general  a  vice,  and  severity 
must  cure  it. 

Lucio.  Yes,  in  good  sooth,  the  vice  is  of  a  great 
kindred ;  it  is  well  allied  :  but  it  is  impossible  to 
extirp  it  quite,  friar,  till  eating  and  drinking  be  no 
put  down.  They  say  this  Angelo  was  not  made 
by  man  and  woman  after  this  downright  way  of 
creation  :  is  it  true,  think  you  ? 

Duke.   How  should  he  be  made,  then  ? 

Lucio.  Some  report  a  sea-maid  spawned  him  ; 
some,  that  he  was  begot  between  two  stock-fishes. 
But  it  is  certain  that  when  he  makes  w^ater  his 
urine  is  congealed  ice ;  that  I  know  to  be  true  : 
and  he  is  a  motion  generative  ;  that 's  infallible. 

Duke.  You  are  pleasant,  sir,  and  speak  apace.     120 

Lucio.  Why,  what  a  ruthless  thing  is  this  in 
him,  for  the  rebellion  of  a  codpiece  to  take  away 
the  life  of  a  man  !  Would  the  duke  that  is  absent 
have  done  this  ?  Ere  he  would  have  hanged  a 
man  for  the  getting  a  hundred  bastards,  he  would 
have  paid  for  the  nursing  a  thousand :  he  had 
some  feeling  of  the  sport ;  he  knew  the  service, 
and  that  instructed  him  to  mercy. 

Duke.  I  never  heard  the  absent  duke  much  de- 
tected for  women  ;  he  was  not  inclined  that  way.     130 

Lucio.   O,  sir,  you  are  deceived. 

Duke.   'Tis  not  possible. 

Lucio.  Who,  not  the  duke  ?  yes,  your  beggar 
of  fifty ;  and  his  use  was  to  put  a  ducat  in  her 
clack-dish  :  the  duke  had  crotchets  in  him.  He 
would  be  drunk  too  ;  that  let  me  inform  you. 

119.    a   motion  generative,    a  129.    detected,  accused, 

puppet  begotten  (but  having  no  135.   clack-dish,   the    wooden 

power  to  beget).      If  right,  the  alms-dish  with  a  movable  cover 

passage  is  an  instance  of  the  pas-  which  beggars  clacked  and  clat- 

sive  use  of  the  suffix  -ive.    Theo-  tered  to  show  that  it  was  empty, 

bald  emended  :   un generative.  The  phrase  contains  an  equivoque. 

298 


sc.  II  Measure  for  Measure 

Duke.  You  do  him  wrong,  surely. 

Lucio.  Sir,  I  was  an  inward  of  his.  A  shy 
fellow  was  the  duke  :  and  I  believe  I  know  the 
cause  of  his  withdrawing.  140 

Duke.   What,  I  prithee,  might  be  the  cause  ? 

Lucio.  No,  pardon ;  'tis  a  secret  must  be 
locked  within  the  teeth  and  the  lips  :  but  this  I 
can  let  you  understand,  the  greater  file  of  the 
subject  held  the  duke  to  be  wise. 

Dtike.  Wise  !  why,  no  question  but  he  was. 

Lucio.  A  very  superficial,  ignorant,  unweighing 
fellow. 

Duke.  Either  this  is  envy  in  you,  folly,  or 
mistaking  :  the  very  stream  of  his  life  and  the  150 
business  he  hath  helmed  must  upon  a  warranted 
need  give  him  a  better  proclamation.  Let  him 
be  but  testimonied  in  his  own  bringings-forth, 
and  he  shall  appear  to  the  envious  a  scholar,  a 
statesman  and  a  soldier.  Therefore  you  speak 
unskilfully ;  or  if  your  knowledge  be  more  it  is 
much  darkened  in  your  malice. 

Lucio.   Sir,  I  know  him,  and  I  love  him. 

Duke.  Love  talks  with  better  knowledge,  and 
knowledge  with  dearer  love.  160 

Lucio.   Come,  sir,  I  know  what  I  know. 

Duke.  I  can  hardly  believe  that,  since  you 
know  not  what  you  speak.  But,  if  ever  the  duke 
return,  as  our  prayers  are  he  may,  let  me  desire 
you  to  make  your  answer  before  him.  If  it  be 
honest  you  have  spoke,  you  have  courage  to 
maintain  it :  I  am  bound  to  call  upon  you ;  and, 
I  pray  you,  your  name  ? 

138.    inward,  intimate.  147.      U7iweighi}ig,     void     of 

judgment. 

144.    the   greater  file   of  the  151.  helmed,  piloted,  directed. 

subject,  the  majority  of  his  sub-  156.    unskilfully,  without  un- 

jects.  derstanding. 

299 


Measure  for  Measure         act  m 

Lucio.  Sir,  my  name  is  Lucio ;  well  known  to 
the  duke.  170 

Duke.  He  shall  know  you  better,  sir,  if  I 
may  live  to  report  you. 

Lucio.   I  fear  you  not. 

Duke.  O,  you  hope  the  duke  will  return  no 
more ;  or  you  imagine  me  too  unhurtful  an  op- 
posite. But  indeed  I  can  do  you  little  harm; 
you  '11  forswear  this  again. 

Liicio.  I  '11  be  hanged  first :  thou  art  deceived 
in  me,  friar.  But  no  more  of  this.  Canst  thou 
tell  if  Claudio  die  to-morrow  or  no?  iSo 

Duke.  Why  should  he  die,  sir  ? 

Lucio.  Why?  For  filling  a  bottle  with  a  tun- 
dish.  I  would  the  duke  we  talk  of  were  returned 
again  :  this  ungenitured  agent  will  unpeople  the 
province  with  continency ;  sparrows  must  not 
build  in  his  house-eaves,  because  they  are  lecher- 
ous. The  duke  yet  would  have  dark  deeds 
darkly  answered  ;  he  would  never  bring  them  to 
light :  would  he  were  returned !  Marry,  this 
Claudio  is  condemned  for  untrussing.  Farewell,  190 
good  friar :  I  prithee,  pray  for  me.  The  duke, 
I  say  to  thee  again,  would  eat  mutton  on  Fridays. 
He 's  not  past  it  yet,  and  I  say  to  thee,  he  would 
mouth  with  a  beggar,  though  she  smelt  brown  bread 
and  garlic  :   say  that  I  said  so.     Farewell.       \Exit. 

Duke.   No  might  nor  greatness  in  mortality 
Can  censure  'scape  ;  back-wounding  calumny 
The  whitest  virtue  strikes.      What  king  so  strong 
Can  tie  the  gall  up  in  the  slanderous  tongue  ? 
But  who  comes  here  ?  200 

182.   tun-dish,  funnel.  was  to  detach   the  laces  which 

184.      ungenitured,      without      supported  the  hose, 
genital  organs.  192.     mutton,    an    equivocal 

190.  untrussing.     To  untruss      term  for  a  wanton  woman. 

300 


sc.  II  Measure  for  Measure 


E7iter  EscALUs,  Provost,  and  Officers  with 
Mistress  Overdone. 

Escal.   Go  ;  away  with  her  to  prison  ! 

Mrs.  Ov.  Good  my  lord,  be  good  to  me  ;  your 
honour  is  accounted  a  merciful  man  ;  good  my 
lord. 

Escal.  Double  and  treble  admonition,  and  still 
forfeit  in  the  same  kind  !  This  would  make  mercy 
swear  and  play  the  tyrant. 

PrmK  A  bawd  of  eleven  years'  continuance, 
may  it  please  your  honour. 

Mrs.  Ov.  My  lord,  this  is  one  Lucio's  informa-  210 
tion  against  me.  Mistress  Kate  Keepdown  was 
with  child  by  him  in  the  duke's  time  ;  he  promised 
her  marriage  :  his  child  is  a  year  and  a  quarter 
old,  come  Philip  and  Jacob  :  I  have  kept  it  my- 
self; and  see  how  he  goes  about  to  abuse  me  ! 

Escal.  That  fellow  is  a  fellow  of  much  license : 
let  him  be  called  before  us.  Avvay  with  her  to 
prison  !  Go  to  ;  no  more  words.  \Exeu7it  Officers 
with  Mistress  Ov.]  Provost,  my  brother  Angelo 
will  not  be  altered ;  Claudio  must  die  to-morrow  :  220 
let  him  be  furnished  with  divines,  and  have  all 
charitable  preparation.  If  my  brother  wrought 
by  my  pity,  it  should  not  be  so  with  him. 

Erov.  So  please  you,  this  friar  hath  been  with 
him,  and  advised  him  for  the  entertainment  of 
death. 

Escal.   Good  even,  good  father. 

Duke.  Bliss  and  goodness  on  you  ! 

Escal.  Of  whence  are  you  ? 

Duke.  *  Not  of  this  country,  though  my  chance 
is  now  230 

206.  forfeit,  liable  to  penalty. 
214.   Philip  and  Jacob,  the  day  of  these  saints,  ist  May. 


Measure  for  Measure         act  m 

To  use  it  for  my  time  :   I  am  a  brother 
Of  gracious  order,  late  come  from  the  See 
In  special  business  from  his  holiness. 

Escal.  What  news  abroad  i'  the  world? 

Duke.  None,  but  that  there  is  so  great  a  fever 
on  goodness,  that  the  dissolution  of  it  must  cure 
it  :  novelty  is  only  in  request ;  and  it  is  as  danger- 
ous to  be  aged  in  any  kind  of  course,  as  it  is 
virtuous  to  be  constant  in  any  undertaking.  There 
is  scarce  truth  enough  alive  to  make  societies  240 
secure  ;  but  security  enough  to  make  fellowships 
accurst :  much  upon  this  riddle  runs  the  wisdom 
of  the  world.  This  news  is  old  enough,  yet  it  is 
every  day's  news.  I  pray  you,  sir,  of  what  dis- 
position was  the  duke  ? 

Escal.    One   that,  above  all   other  strifes,  con- 
tended especially  to  know  himself 

Duke.  What  pleasure  was  he  given  to  ? 

Escal.  Rather  rejoicing  to  see  another  merry, 
than  merry  at  any  thing  which  professed  to  make  250 
him  rejoice  :  a  gentleman  of  all  tejii^rance.  But 
leave  we  him  to  his  events,  with  a  prayer  they 
may  prove  prosperous  ;  and  let  me  desire  to  know 
how  you  find  Claudio  prepared.  I  am  made  to 
understand  that  you  have  lent  him  visitation. 

Duke.  He  j^rofesscs  to  have  received  no  sin- 
ister measure  from  his  judge,  but  most  willingly 
humbles  himself  to  the  determination  of  justice  : 
yet  had  he  framed  to  himself,  by  the  instruction 
of  his  frailty,  many  deceiving  promises  of  life ;  260 
which  I  by  my  good  leisure  have  discredited  to 
him,  and  now  is  he  resolved  to  die. 

Escal.  You  have  paid  the  heavens  your  func- 

241.    security  (playing  on  the  252.   his  e-oents,  the  issue  of 

legal  sense),  entreaties  to  stand      his  affairs. 
surety. 

302 


sc.  II  Measure  for  Measure  Y 

tion,  and  the  prisoner  the  very  debt  of  your  call- 
ing. I  have  laboured  for  the  poor  gentleman 
to  the  extremest  shore  of  my  modesty  :  but  my 
brother  justice  have  I  found  so  severe,  that  he 
hath  forced  me  to  tell  him  he  is  indeed  Justice. 

Duke.   If  his  own  life  answer  the  straitness  of 
his  proceeding,  it  shall  become  him  well ;  wherein  270 
if  he  chance  to  fail,  he  hath  sentenced  himself 

Escal.   I  am  going  to  visit  the  prisoner.      Fare 
you  well. 

Duke.   Peace  be  with  you  ! 

\_Exe21nt  Escalus  and  Provost. 
He  who  the  sword  of  heaven  will  bear 
Should  be  as  holy  as  severe ; 
Pattern  in  himself  to  know, 
Grace  to  stand,  and  virtue  go ; 
More  nor  less  to  others  paying 

Than  by  self-offences  weighing.  a8o 

Shame  to  him  whose  cruel  striking 
Kills  for  faults  of  his  own  liking  ! 
Twice  treble  shame  on  Angelo, 
To  weed  my  vice  and  let  his  grow  ! 
O,  what  may  man  within  hirn  hide, 
Though  angel  on  the  outward  side  ! 
How  may  likeness  made  in  crimes, 
Making  practice  on  the  times, 
To  draw  with  idle  spiders'  strings 

275  -  296.  These  lines  are  287  f.  How  may  likeness  made 
harshly  expressed,  in  parts  cor-  in  crimes,  etc.  The  thought  in- 
rupt,  and  probably,  as  a  whole,  tended  is  clearly  :  '  How  hypo- 
spurious,  crisy    succeeds  ! '      But    neither 

278.  '  Grace  to  resist  evil,  and  ^y"^^^  ^°l  expression  is    satis- 

virtue  to  be  active  in  good.'  ^^^^oxy.     Malone  proposed  «;a</^ 

for  made  :  '  How  may  hypocrisy 

284.  my  vice.  The  duke  ( 'seeming')  wade  in  crimes,  play- 
speaks  as  a  representative  of  ing  tricks  upon  the  world,  so  as 
men  at  large,  not  in  his  own  to  attract  to  itself  substantial  ad- 
person,  vantages  by  empty  pretence ! ' 


Measure  for  Measure 


ACT  IV 


Most  ponderous  and  substantial  things  !  zgo 

Craft  agairistvice  I  must  ajoply : 

With  Angelo  to-night  shall  lie 

His  old  betrothed  but  despised  ; 

So  disguise  sliall,  by  the  disguised, 

Pay  with  falsehood  false  exacting, 

And  perform  an  old  contracting.  {Extt. 


ACT  IV 

Scene  I.      The  moated  grange  at  St  Luke's. 

Enter  Mariana  and  a  Boy. 

Boy  sings. 
Take,  O,  take  those  lips  away, 

That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn ; 
And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day. 

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn  : 
But  my  kisses  bring  aa:ain,  bring  again  ; 
Seals  of  love,  but  seal'd  in  vain,  seal'd  in  vain. 
Mari.   Break  off  thy  song,  and  haste  thee  quick 
away  : 
Here  comes  a  man  of  comfort,  whose  advice 
Hath  often  still'd  my  brawling  discontent. 

\Exit  Boy. 

Enter  Duke  disguised  as  before. 
I  cry  you  mercy,  sir ;  and  well  could  wish  i, 

294.     by    the     disguised,     i.e.  Hide,  oh  hide,  those  hills  of  snow 
Mariana.  Which  thy  frozen  hosom  hears, 

Song.      This  song  is  found  in  On  whose  tops  the  pinks  that  glow 

Fletcher's   The  Bloody   Brother,  „  '^■'e  of  those  that  April  wears, 

,  ,,  ,  .  ,^       ,  ,  isut  nrst  set  mv  poor  heart  tree, 

followed  by  a  second  and  much  j^^und  in  thosi  icy  chains  by  thee. 
inferior  stanza  : — 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

You  had  not  found  me  here  so  musical : 

Let  me  excuse  me,  and  believe  me  so, 

My  mirth  it  much  displeased,  but  pleased  my  woe. 

Duke.  'Tis  good ;  though  music  oft  hath  such 
a  charm 
To  make  bad  good,  and  good  provoke  to  harm. 
I  pray  you,  tell  me,  hath  any   body  inquired  for 
me  here  to-day  ?    much   upon   this   time   have  I 
promised  here  to  meet. 

Mari.  You  have  not  been  inquired  after :  I 
have  sat  here  all  day.  20 

Enter  Isabella. 

Duke.  I  do  constantly  believe  you.  The  time 
is  come  even  now.  I  shall  crave  your  forbear- 
ance a  little :  may  be  I  will  call  upon  you  anon, 
for  some  advantage  to  yourself. 

Mari.   I  am  always  bound  to  you.  \Exit. 

Duke.  Very  well  met,  and  well  come. 
What  is  the  news  from  this  good  deputy  ? 

Isab.   He  hath  a  garden  circummured  with  brick, 
"Whose  western  side  is  with  a  vineyard  back'd ; 
And  to  that  vineyard  is  a  planched  gate,  30 

That  makes  his  opening  with  this  bigger  key  : 
This  other  doth  command  a  little  door 
"Which  from  the  vineyard  to  the  garden  leads ; 
There  have  I  made  my  promise 
Upon  the  heavy  middle  of  the  night 
To  call  upon  him. 

Duke.   But  shall   you  on  your   knowledge  find 
this  way  ? 

13.    My  ..mirth   it  much  dis-  21.  constantly,  unhesitatinglyi 

pleased,  hit  pleased  my  woe.     It  28.       circummured,       walled 

soothed  my  sorrow,  but  checked  about. 

any  disposition  I  might  have  to  30.  planched,  made  of  planks, 

merriment.  31.    his,  its. 

VOL.  Ill  305  X 


Measure  for  Measure         act  iv 

Isab.   I  have  ta'en  a  due  and  wary  note  upon 't : 
With  whispering  and  most  guilty  diligence, 
In  action  all  of  precept,  he  did  show  me  40 

The  way  twice  o'er. 

Duke.  Are  there  no  other  tokens 

Between  you  'greed  concerning  her  observance  ? 

Isab.    No,  none,  but  only  a  repair  i'  the  dark  ; 
And  that  I  have  possess'd  him  my  most  stay 
Can  be  but  brief;  for  I  have  made  him  know 
I  have  a  servant  comes  with  me  along. 
That  stays  upon  me,  whose  persuasion  is 
I  come  about  my  brother. 

Duke.  'Tis  well  borne  up. 

I  have  not  yet  made  known  to  Mariana 
A  word  of  this.     What,  ho  !  within  !  come  forth  !     50 

Re-enter  Mariana. 

I  pray  you,  be  acquainted  with  this  maid  ; 
She  comes  to  do  you  good. 

Isab.  I  do  desire  the  like. 

Duke.   Do  you  persuade  yourself  that  I  respect 

you  ? 
Mari.   Good  friar,   I    know   you  do,   and   have 

found  it. 
Duke.  Take,  then,  this  your  companion  by  the 
hand. 
Who  hath  a  story  ready  for  your  ear. 
I  shall  attend  your  leisure  :  but  make  haste; 
The  vaporous  night  approaches. 

Mari.  Will 't  please  you  walk  aside  ? 

\^Exeunt  Maria?ia  and  Isabel/a. 
Duke.   O  place  and  greatness  !  millions  of  false 
eyes  60 

Are  stuck  upon  thee  :  volumes  of  report 

44.  possess'd,  informed.  44.   most,  utmost. 

48.   borne  up,  supported. 

306 


sc.  II  Measure  for  Measure 

Run  with  these  false  and  most  contrarious  quests 
Upon  thy  doings  :   thousand  escapes  of  wit 
Make  thee  the  father  of  their  idle  dreams, 
And  rack  thee  in  their  fancies. 

Re-enter  Mariana  and  Isabella. 

Welcome,  how  agreed  ? 

Isab.     She  '11    take    the    enterprise    upon    her, 
father, 
If  you  advise  it. 

Duke.  It  is  not  my  consent, 

But  my  entreaty  too. 

Isab.  Little  have  you  to  say 

When  you  depart  from  him,  but,  soft  and  low 
'  Remember  now  my  brother.' 

Mari.  Fear  me  not.  70 

Duke.   Nor,  gentle  daughter,  fear  you  not  at  all. 
He  is  your  husband  on  a  pre-contract : 
To  bring  you  thus  together,  'tis  no  sin, 
Sith  that  the  justice  of  your  title  to  him 
Doth  flourish  the  deceit.     Come,  let  us  go  : 
Our  corn  's  to  reap,  for  yet  our  tithe  's  to  sow. 

\Exeunt. 


Scene  II.     A  room  in  the  prison. 

Enter  Provost  and  Pompey. 

Prov.    Come  hither,   sirrah.      Can  you  cut   off 
a  man's  head  ? 

Fom.   If  the   man   be  a   bachelor,    sir,   I  can ; 

62.   quests f.  inquiries.  — the  tenth  of  the  harvest ;  but 

75.  fiourish,  colour,  varnish.        this  usage  has  not  been  proved. 

76.  tithe.  So  Ff.  This  may  Warburton  very  plausibly  sub- 
possibly  be  explained  (with  stituted  tilth,  i.e.  land  to  be 
Knight)  as  the  seed  to  be  sown      sown,  as  in  Temp.  ii.  i.  152. 


Measure  for  Measure         act  iv 

but  if  he  be  a  married  man,  he  's  his  wife's  head, 
and  I  can  never  cut  off  a  woman's  head. 

Prov.  Come,  sir,  leave  me  your  snatches,  and 
yield  me  a  direct  answer.  To-morrow  morning 
are  to  die  Claudio  and  Barnardine.  Here  is  in 
our  prison  a  common  executioner,  who  in  his 
office  lacks  a  helper  :  if  you  will  take  it  on  you  lo 
to  assist  him,  it  shall  redeem  you  from  your 
gyves ;  if  not,  you  shall  have  your  full  time  of 
imprisonment  and  your  deliverance  with  an  un- 
pitied  whipping,  for  you  have  been  a  notorious 
bawd. 

Pom.  Sir,  I  have  been  an  unlawful  bawd 
time  out  of  mind  ;  but  yet  I  will  be  content  to 
be  a  lawful  hangman.  I  would  be  glad  to  receive 
some  instruction  from  my  fellow  partner. 

Prov.    What,    ho  !    Abhorson  !      \\'here  's    Ab-   ao 
horson,  there  ? 

E7iter  Abhorson. 

Abhor.   Do  you  call,  sir? 

Prov.  Sirrah,  here 's  a  fellow  will  help  you 
to-morrow  in  your  execution.  If  you  think  it 
meet,  compound  with  him  by  the  year,  and  let 
him  abide  here  with  you  ;  if  not,  use  him  for  the 
present  and  dismiss  him.  He  cannot  plead  his 
estimation  with  you  ;  he  hath  been  a  bawd. 

Abhor.  A  bawd,  sir  ?  fie  upon  him !  he  will 
discredit  our  mystery.  30 

Prov.  Go  to,  sir  ;  you  weigh  equally ;  a  featbeT 
vi'iW  turn  the  scale.  [Exit. 

Pom.  Pray,  sir,  by  your  good  favour, — for 
surely,  sir,  a  good  favour  you  have,  but  that  you 
have  a  hanging  look, — do  you  call,  sir,  your  occu- 
pation a  mystery  ? 

6.  snatches,  scraps  of  wit.  13.   unpiticd,  merciless. 


SC.   II 


Measure  for  Measure 


Abhor.   Ay,  sir ;  a  mystery. 

Po7n.  Painting,  sir,  I  have  heard  say,  is  a 
mystery ;  and  your  whores,  sir,  being  members 
of  my  occupation,  using  painting,  do  prove  my  40 
occupation  a  mystery :  but  what  mystery  there 
should  be  in  hanging,  if  I  should  be  hanged,  I 
cannot  imagine.  ,, 

Abhor.   Sir,  it  is  a  mystery.  ^Z**^' 

,^_J'om.   Proof?  .-y^ 

Abhor.     Every    true    man's    apparel    fits    your         ,L?f       ^fv 
thief:    if  it  be  too  little  for  your  thief,  your  true  ■ti'^^ 

man  thinks  it    big  enough  ;    if  it  be  too  big  for  ?J^ 

your  thief,  your  thief  thinks  it  little  enough  :    so 
every  true  man's  apparel  fits  your  thief.  50 

Re-enter  Provost, 

Prov.  Are  you  agreed  ? 

Fo/u.  Sir,  I  will  serve  him ;  for  I  do  find 
your  hangman  is  a  more  penitent  trade  than  your 
bawd ;  he  doth  oftener  ask  forgiveness. 

Frov.  You,  sirrah,  provide  your  block  and 
your  axe  to-morrow  four  o'clock. 

Abhor.  Come  on,  bawd ;  I  will  instruct  thee 
in  my  trade  ;  follow. 

Fo/n.    I  do  desire  to  learn,  sir :    and  I  hope, 
if  you  have  occasion  to  use  me  for  your  own  turn,    60 
you  shall   find   me  yare ;    for  truly,   sir,   for  your 
kindness  I  oAve  you  a  good  turn, 

Frov.   Call  hither  Barnardine  and  Claudio  : 

[Exeiint  Fompey  and  Abhorson. 
The  one  has  my  pity ;  not  a  jot  the  other. 
Being  a  murderer,  though  he  were  my  brother. 

47.  if  it  be  too  little  .  .  .  thief.  asked  for.     The  correction  was 

Ff  give  this  to  Pompey,  but  it  made  by  Capell. 
is  hard  to  see  with  what  dramatic  61.  yare,  ready, 

propriety  he   can   be    made   to  64.      The     one    (pronounced 

supply  the  'proof   he  has  just  Thone). 


Measure  for  Measure  act  iv 

Enier  Claudio, 

Look,  here  's  the  warrant,  Claudio,  for  thy  death  : 
'Tis  now  dead  midnight,  and  by  eight  to-morrow 
Thou   must   be   made   immortal.       AVhere  's  Bar- 

nardine  ? 
Claud.   As  fast  lock'd  up  in  sleep  as  guiltless 

labour 
When  it  lies  starkly  in  the  traveller's  bones :  70 

He  will  not  wake. 

Prov.  Who  can  do  good  on  him  ? 

Well,   go,    prepare    yourself.       \_Knocking   within.'] 

But,  hark,  what  noise  ? 
Heaven  give  your  spirits  comfort !    [Exit  Ciaudio.'] 

By  and  by. 
I  hope  it  is  some  pardon  or  reprieve 
For  the  most  gentle  Claudio. 

Enter  Duke  disguised  as  before. 

Welcome,  father. 
Duke.  The  best  and  wholesomest  spirits  of  the 
night 
Envelope  you,  good  Provost !     Who  call'd  here  of 
late? 
Prov.   None,  since  the  curfew  rung. 
Duke.   Not  Isabel? 
Prov.  No. 

Duke.  They  will,  then,  ere  't  be  long, 

Prov.   What  comfort  is  for  Claudio  ?  80 

Duke.  There  's  some  in  hope. 
Prov.  It  is  a  bitter  deputy. 

Duke.   Not  so,  not  so  ;  his  life  is  parallel'd 
Even  with  the  stroke  and  line  of  his  great  justice  : 

82,  83.  His  own  life  conforms  refers  primarily  to  the  line  thus 
precisely  to  the  lines  of  conduct  laid  down,  but  also  suggests  the 
he  enforces  as  a  judge.     Stroke     penal  axe. 

310 


SC.  II 


Measure  for  Measure 


He  doth  with  holy  abstinence  subdue 
That  in  himself  which  he  spurs  on  his  power 
To  qualify  in  others  :  were  he  meal'd  with  that 
Which  he  corrects,  then  were  he  tyrannous ; 
But  this  being  so,  he  's  just.  [^Kfiocking  within. 

Now  are  they  come. 
[Exit  Provost. 
This  is  a  gentle  provost :  seldom  when 
The  steeled  gaoler  is  the  friend  of  men.  90 

[Knocking  within. 
How  now  !    what  noise  ?     That  spirit 's  possess'd 

with  haste 
That    wounds    the    unsisting   postern   with   these 
strokes. 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Frov.   There  he  must  stay  until  the  officer 
Arise  to  let  him  in  :  he  is  call'd  up. 

Duke.  Have  you  no  countermand  for  Claudio  yet, 
But  he  must  die  to-morrow  ? 

Frov.  None,  sir,  none. 

Duke.   As  near  the  dawning,  provost,  as  it  is, 
You  shall  hear  more  ere  morning. 

Frov.  Happily 

You  something  know ;  yet  I  believe  there  comes 
No  countermand  ;  no  such  example  have  we  :  100 

Besides,  upon  the  very  siege  of  justice 
Lord  Angelo  hath  to  the  public  ear 
Profess'd  the  contrary. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

This  is  his  lordship's  man. 

86.   mealjl,  defiled.  proposed. 

92.    unsisting,  (probably)  un-  98.    Happily,  haply, 

resisting,    i.e.    not   resenting   or  loi.    siege,  seat, 

avenging     its    'wounds.'        No  103.    This  .  .  .  man.    Ff  give 

satisfactory  emendation  has  been  this  speech  to  the  duke,  and  the 

3" 


Measure  for  Measure  act  iv 

Duke.   And  here  comes  Claudio's  pardon. 

Mes.  \Giving  a  paper.']  My  lord  hath  sent 
you  this  note  ;  and  by  me  this  further  charge, 
that  you  swerve  not  from  the  smallest  article  of 
it,  neither  in  time,  matter,  or  other  circumstance. 
Good  morrow  ;   for,  as  I  take  it,  it  is  almost  day. 

Prov.    I  shall  obey  him.  \_Exit  Messenger,  no 

Duke.    [Aside]  This   is   his   pardon,   purchased 
by  such  sin 
For  which  the  pardoner  himself  is  in, 
Hence  hath  offence  his  quick  celerity, 
When  it  is  borne  in  high  authority  : 
When  vice  makes  mercy,  mercy  's  so  extended. 
That  for  the  fault's  love  is  the  offender  friended. 
Now,  sir,  what  news  ? 

J^rov.  I  told  you.     Lord  Angelo,  belike  thinking 
me  remiss  in  mine  office,   awakens  me  with  this 
unwonted  putting-on  ;   methinks  strangely,  for  he  120 
hath  not  used  it  before. 

Duke.  Pray  you,  let 's  hear. 

Prov.   \Reads] 

'  Whatsoever  you  may  hear  to  the  contrary,  let 
Claudio  be  executed  by  four  of  the  clock ;  and 
in  the  afternoon  Barnardine  :  for  my  better  satis- 
faction, let  me  have  Claudio's  head  sent  me  by 
five.  Let  this  be  duly  performed  ;  with  a  thought 
that  more  depends  on  it  than  we  must  yet  deliver. 
Thus  fail  not  to  do  your  office,  as  you  will  answer 
it  at  your  peril.'  130 

What  say  you  to  this,  sir? 

Duke.  What  is  that  Barnardine  who  is  to  be 
executed  in  the  afternoon  ? 

Prov.  A  Bohemian  born,  but  here  nursed  up 
and  bred  ;  one  that  is  a  prisoner  nine  years  old. 

following  one,    'And  here.  .  .       correction  was  made  by  T)Twhitt, 
pardon,"  to  the  provost.       The  120.  pxitting-on,  urgency. 

312 


SC.  II 


Measure  for  Measure 


Duhe,  How  came  it  that  the  absent  duke  had 
not  either  deUvered  him  to  his  liberty  or  executed 
him?  I  have  heard  it  was  ever  his  manner  to 
do  so. 

Prov.    His   friends   still  wrought   reprieves   for  140 
him  :  and,  indeed,  his  fact,  till  now  in  the  govern- 
ment of  Lord  Angelo,  came  not  to  an  undoubtful 
proof. 

Duke.  It  is  now  apparent  ? 

Prov.  Most  manifest,  and  not  denied  by  him- 
self. 

Duke.  Hath  he  borne  himself  penitently  in 
prison  ?  how  seems  he  to  be  touched  ? 

Prov.  A^man  that  apprehends  death  no  more 
dreadfully  but  as  a  drunken  sleep ;    careless,  reck-  150 
less,   and   feariess   of  what's  past,   present,   or  to 
come ;    insensible    of   mortality,    and    desperately 
mortal. 

Duke.   He  wants  advice. 

Proi'.  He  will  hear  none  :  he  hath  evermore 
had  the  liberty  of  the  prison ;  give  him  leave  to 
escape  hence,  he  would  not :  drunk  many  times 
a  day,  if  not  many  days  entirely  drunk.  We  have 
very  oft  awaked  him,  as  if  to  carry  him  to  execu- 
tion, and  showed  him  a  seeming  warrant  for  it :  160 
it  hath  not  moved  him  at  all.  ^ 

Duke.  More  of  him  anon.  There  is  written 
in  your  brow,  provost,  honesty  and  constancy  :  if 
I  read  it  not  truly,  my  ancient  skill  beguiles  me ; 
but,  in  the  boldness  of  my  cunning,  I  will  lay  my 

141.  fact,  crime.  near  to  death,'  '  desperate  in  his 

144.   apparent,  patent.  incurring  of  death.'      But  both 

the  context  and  the  duke's  com- 
152.    mortality,  death.  ^,g^j    support    the    theological 

ib.  desperately  mortal,  doomed      interpretation, 
to  death  without  hope  of  salva-  165.    the  boldness  of  viy  cun- 

tion.    Others  interpret :  'terribly      ning,  the  confidence  of  my  skill. 


Measure  for  Measure         act  iv 

self  in  hazard.  Claudio,  whom  here  you  have 
warrant  to  execute,  is  no  greater  forfeit  to  the 
law  than  Angelo  who  hath  sentenced  him.  To 
make  you  understand  this  in  a  manifested  effect, 
I  crave  but  four  days'  respite ;  for  the  which  you  170 
are  to  do  me  both  a  present  and  a  dangerous 
courtesy. 

Frov.   Pray,  sir,  in  what  ? 

Duke.   In  the  delaying  death. 

Prov.  Alack,  how  may  I  do  it,  having  the 
hour  limited,  and  an  express  command,  under 
penalty,  to  deliver  his  head  in  the  view  of  Angelo  ? 
I  may  make  my  case  as  Claudio's,  to  cross  this  in 
the  smallest. 

Duke.   By   the   vow  of  mine   order   I   warrant  180 
you,  if  my  instructions  may  be  your  guide.     Let 
this   Barnardine   be  this   morning  executed,  and 
his  head  borne  to  Angelo. 

Prov.  Angelo  hath  seen  them  both,  and  will 
discover  the  favour. 

Duke.  O,  death  's  a  great  disguiser  ;  and  you 
may  add  to  it.  Shave  the  head,  and  tie  the 
beard  :  and  say  it  was  the  desire  of  the  penitent 
to  be  so  bared  before  his  death  :  you  know  the 
course  is  common.  If  any  thing  fall  to  you  upon  190 
this,  more  than  thanks  and  good  fortune,  by  the 
saint  whom  I  profess,  I  will  plead  against  it  with 
my  life. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  good  father;  it  is  against 
my  oath. 

Duke.  Were  you  sworn  to  the  duke,  or  to  tne 
deputy  ? 

Prov.   To  him,  and  to  his  substitutes. 

Duke.    You    will    think    you    have    made    no 

185.  favour,  face. 

3M 


sc.  Ill  Measure  for  Measure 

offence,  if  the  duke  avouch   the  justice  of  your  200 
dealing  ? 

Prov.   But  what  hkelihood  is  in  that? 

Duke.  Not  a  resemblance,  but  a  certainty. 
Yet  since  I  see  you  fearful,  that  neither  my  coat, 
integrity,  nor  persuasion  can  with  ease  attempt 
you,  I  will  go  further  than  I  meant,  to  pluck  all 
fears  out  of  you.  Look  you,  sir,  here  is  the  hand 
and  seal  of  the  duke  :  you  know  the  character, 
I  doubt  not ;  and  the  signet  is  not  strange  to  you. 

Prov.   I  know  them  both.  210 

Duke.  The  contents  of  this  is  the  return  of 
the  duke  :  you  shall  anon  over-read  it  at  your 
pleasure ;  where  you  shall  find,  within  these  two 
days  he  will  be  here.  This  is  a  thing  that  Angelo 
knows  not ;  for  he  this  very  day  receives  letters  of 
strange  tenour  ;  perchance  of  the  duke's  death ; 
perchance  entering  into  some  nionastery  ;  but,  by 
chance,  nothing  of  what  is  writ.  Look,  the  un- 
folding star  calls  up  the  shepherd.  Put  not  your- 
self into  amazement  how  the?e  things  should  be  :  220 
all  difificulties  are  but  easy  when  they  are  known. 
Call  vour  executioner,  and  off  with  Barnardine's 
head  :  I  will  give  him  a  present  shrift  and  advise 
him  for  a  better  place.  Yet  you  are  amazed ; 
but  this  shall  absolutely  resolve  you.  Come 
away  :  it  is  almost  clear  dawn.  \Exeurit. 


Scene  IIL  Another  room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Pompey. 
Pom.    I  am  as  well  acquainted  here  as  I  was 

218.    the   unfolding  star,   the      the  shepherd  unfolds  his  flock, 
morning  star,  upon  whose  rising  225.   resolve,  convince. 


Measure  for  Measure         act  iv 

in  our  house  of  profession  :  one  would  think  it 
were  Mistress  Overdone's  own  house,  for  here  be 
many  of  her  old  customers.  First,  here  's  young 
Master  Rash  ;  he  's  in  for  a  commodity  of  brown 
paper  and  old  ginger,  nine-score  and  seventeen 
pounds ;  of  which  he  made  five  marks,  ready 
money :  marry,  then  ginger  was  not  much  in 
request,  for  the  old  v/omen  were  all  dead.  Then 
is  there  here  one  Master  Caper,  at  the  suit  of  lo 
Master  Three  pile  the  mercer,  for  some  four  suits 
of  peach-coloured  satin,  which  now  peaches  him 
a  beggar.  Then  have  we  here  young  Dizy,  and 
young  Master  Deep-vow,  and  Master  Copper- 
spur,  and  Master  Starve -lackey  the  rapier  and 
dagger  man,  and  young  Drop-heir  that  killed 
lusty  Pudding,  and  Master  Forthlight  the  tilter, 
and  brave  Master  Shooty  the  great  traveller,  and 
wild  Half-can  that  stabbed  Pots,  and,  I  think, 
forty  more  ;  all  great  doers  in  our  trade,  and  are  20 
now  'for  the  Lord's  sake.' 

Enter  Abhorson. 

Abhor.   Sirrah,  bring  Barnardine  hither. 
Pom.   Master   Barnardine  !   you   must   rise  and 
be  hanged,  Master  Barnardine  ! 
Abhor.   What,  ho,  Barnardine  ! 

5.   he' s  in  for  a  commodity  of  sake'    i.e.    are    in    a    debtors' 

brown  paper,  etc.     Usurers  were  prison  ;   it  being  the  custom  of 

accustomed    to    increase    tlieir  the  prisoners  to  appeal  through 

profits  by  malting    their    loans  their    grated    windows    to    the 

partly     in     cheap    commodities  passers-by  in  these  words, 
reckoned  far  above  their  value, 

which  the  borrower  then  realised  24.    hanged,    e.xecuted.     The 

at  a  heavy  loss.      Usurers  were  verb,  like  the  noun  'hangman,' 

thence  known  as  '  brown-paper  was  used  with  reference  to  the 

merchants. '      Commodity,  quan-  block  as  well  as  the  gallows.    Cf. 

tity  of  wares,  parcel.  Macbeth's  allusion  to  his  blood- 

20.   are  now  'for  the  Lord's  stained  'hangman's  hands.' 

•:i6 


SC.   Ill 


Measure  for  Measure 


Bar.  [  Within']  A  pox  o'  your  throats  !  Who 
makes  that  noise  there  ?     What  are  you  ? 

Pom.  Your  friends,  sir ;  the  hangman.  You 
must  be__sg_g:ood,  sir,_to^rise  an^d  be  pui  .to__death, 

^r.  [  Within\  Away,  you  rogue,  away  !     I  am   30 
sleepy. 

Abhor.  Tell  him  he  must  awake,  and  that 
quickly  too. 

Pom.  Pray,  Master  Barnardine,  awake  till  you 
are  executed,  and  sleep  afterwards. 

Abhor.  Go  in  to  him,  and  fetch  him  out. 

Pom.  He  is  coming,  sir,  he  is  coming;  I  hear 
his  straw  rustle. 

Abhor.   Is  the  axe  upon  the  block,  sirrah  ? 

Pom.  A'ery  ready,  sir.  40 

Enter  Barnardine. 

Bar.  How  now,  Abhorson ?  what's  the  news 
with  you  ? 

Abhor.  Truly,  sir,  I  would  desire  you  to  clap 
into  your  prayers ;  for,  look  you^  the  warrant 's 
come. 

Bar.  You  rogue,  I  have  been  drinking  all 
night ;  I  am  not  fitted  for 't. 

Pom.  O,  the  better,  sir ;  for  he  that  drinks  all 
night,  and  is  hanged  betimes  in  the  morning,  may 
sleep  the  sounder  all  the  next  day.  5° 

Abhor.  Look  you,  sir  ;  here  comes  your  ghostly 
father  :  do  we  jest  now,  think  you  ? 

Enter  Duke  disguised  as  before. 

Duke.  Sir,  induced  by  my  charity,  and  hearing 
how  hastily  you  are  to  depart,  I  am  coine  to 
advise  you,  comfort  you  and  pray  with  you. 

43.  clap  into,  promptly  begin. 


Measure  for  Measure         act  rv 

Bar.  Friar,  not  I  :  I  have  been  drinking  hard 
all  night,  and  I  will  have  more  time  to  prepare 
me,  or  they  shall  beat  out  my  brains  with  billets  : 
I  will  not  consent  to  die  this  day,  that 's  certain. 

Duke.    O,    sir,    you    must :     and    therefore    I 
beseecii  you  60 

Look  forward  on  the  journey  you  shall  go. 

Bar.  I  swear  I  ^vill  not  dje  to-day  for  any 
man's  persuasion. 

Duke.    But  Tiear  you. 

Bar.  Not  a  word  :  if  you  have  any  thing  to 
say  to  me,  come  to  my  ward ;  for  thence  will  not 
I  to-day.  {Exit. 

Duke.   Unfit  to  live  or  die  :  O  gravel  heart ! 
After  him,  fellows  ;  bring  him  to  the  block. 

\Exeu?it  Abhorson  and  Ponipey. 

Enter  Provost. 

Prov.   Now,  sir,  how  do  you  find  the  prisoner  ?     70 

Duke.     A    creature    unprepared,     unmeet    for 
death ; 
And  to  transport  him  in  the  mind  he  is 
Were  damnable. 

Prov.  Here  in  the  prison,  father, 

There  died  this  morning  of  a  cruel  fever 
One  Ragozine,  a  most  notorious  pirate, 
A  man  of  Claudio's  years  ;  his  beard  and  head 
Just  of  his  colour.      What  if  we  do  omit 
This  reprobate  till  he  were  well  inclined ; 
And  satisfy  the  deputy  wnth  the  visage 
Of  Ragozine,  more  like  to  Claudio  ?  80 

Duke.   O,  'tis  an  accident  that  heaven  provides  ! 
Dispatch  it  presently  ;  the  hour  draws  on 
Prefix'd  by  Angelo  :  see  this  be  done, 

72.   transport  him,  i.  e.  to  another  world. 
318 


sc.  in  Measure  for  Measure 

And  sent  according  to  command ;  whiles  I 
Persuade  this  rude  wretch  willingly  to  die. 

Prov.  This  shall  be  done,  good  father,  presently. 
But  Barnardine  must  die  this  afternoon  : 
And  how  shall  we  continue  Claudio, 
To  save  me  from  the  danger  that  might  come 
If  he  were  known  alive  ? 

Duke.  Let  this  be  done. 

Put  them  in  secret   holds,  both   Barnardine  and 

Claudio  : 
Ere  twice  the  sun  hath  made  his  journal  greeting 
To  the  under  generation,  you  shall  find 
Your  safety  manifested. 

Prov.   I  am  your  free  dependant. 

Duke.   Quick,  dispatch,  and  send  the  head  to 
Angelo.  \Exit  Provost. 

Now  will  I  write  letters  to  Angelo, — 
The  provost,  he  shall  bear  them,— whose  contents 
Shall  witness  to  him  I  am  near  at  home. 
And  that,  by  great  injunctions,  I  am  bound 
To  enter  publicly  :   him  I  '11  desire 
To  meet  me  at  the  consecrated  fount 
A  league  below  the  city  ;  and  from  thence, 
By  cold  gradation  and  well-balanced  form, 
We  shall  proceed  with  Angelo. 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Prov.   Here  is  the  head ;  I  '11  carry  it  myself. 

Duke.  Convenient  is  it.     Make  a  swift  return  ; 
For  I  would  commune  with  you  of  such  things 
That  want  no  ear  but  yours. 

Prov.  I  '11  make  all.  speed.      \Exit. 

Isab.   [  lVithin\  Peace,  ho,  be  here  ! 

92.  joia-nal,  daily. 
93.   the  under,  Hanmer's  reading  for  Yi yond. 


90 


Measure  for  Measure  act  iv 

Duke.  The  ton2;ue  of  Isabel.   She  's  come  to  know 
If  yet  her  brother's  pardon  be  come  hither  : 
But  I  will  keep  her  ignorant  of  her  good, 
To  make  lief  heavenly  comforts  of  despair, 
When  it  is  least  expected. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Isab,  Ho,  by  your  leave  ! 

Diike.  Good  morning  to  you,  fair  and  gracious 
daughter. 

Isab.   The  better,  given  me  by  so  holy  a  man. 
Hath  yet  the  deputy  sent  my  brother's  pardon  ? 

Duke.   He  hath  released  him,  Isabel,  from  the 
world  : 
His  head  is  off  and  sent  to  Angelo.  120 

Isab.   Nay,  but  it  is  not  so. 

Duke.  It    is    no    other :    show   your   wisdom, 
daughter. 
In  your  close  patience. 

Isab.   O,  I  will  to  him  and  pluck  out  his  eyes  ! 

Duke.   You  shall  not  be  admitted  to  his  sight. 

Isab.   Unhappy  Claudio  !  wretched  Isabel ! 
Injurious  world  !  most  damned  Angelo  ! 

Duke.   This  nor  hurts  him  nor  profits  you  a  jot ; 
Forbear  it  therefore  ;  give  your  cause  to  heaven. 
Mark  what  I  say,  which  you  shall  fmd  13c 

By  every  syllable  a  faithful  verity : 
The  duke  comes  home  to-morrow  :  nay,  dry  your 

eyes  ; 
One  of  our  covent,  and  his  confessor. 
Gives  me  this  instance  :  already  he  hath  carried 
Notice  to  Escalus  and  Angelo, 
Who  do  prepare  to  meet  him  at  the  gates, 
There  to  give  up  their  power.     If  you  can,  pace 
your  wisdom 

134.  instance,  intimation.  137.  pace,  set  in  motion. 

320. 


sc.  Ill  Measure  for  Measure 

In  that  good  path  that  I  would  wish  it  go, 
And  you  shall  have  your  hosom  on  this  wretch, 
Grace  of  the  duke,  revenges  to  your  heart,  i^o 

And  general  honour. 

Isab.  I  am  directed  by  you. 

Duke.  This  letter,  then,  to  Friar  Peter  give ; 
'Tis  that  he  sent  me  of  the  duke's  return : 
Say,  by  this  token,  I  desire  his  company 
At    Mariana's    house    to-night.     Her    cause   and 

yours 
I  '11  perfect  him  withal,  and  he  shall  bring  you 
Before  the  duke,  and  to  the  head  of  Angelo 
Accuse  him  home  and  home.     For  my  poor  self, 
I  am  combined  by  a  sacred  vow 
And  shall  be  absent.     Wend  you  with  this  letter :    150 
Command  these  fretting  waters  from  your  eyes 
With  a  light  heart ;  trust  not  my  holy  order, 
If  I  pervert  your  coufse.      Who  's  here  ? 

Enter  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Good    even.     Friar,    where 's    the    pro- 
vost ? 

Duke.   Not  within,  sir. 

Lucio.  O  pretty  Isabella,  I  am  pale  at  mine 
heart  to  see  thine  eyes  so  red :  thou  must  be 
patient.  I  am  fain  to  dine  and  sup  with  water 
and  bran ;  I  dare  not  for  my  head  fill  my  belly  ;  160 
one  fruitful  meal  would  set  me  to 't.  But  they 
say  the  duke  will  be  here  to-morrow.  By  my 
troth,  Isabel,  I  loved  thy  brother :  if  the  old 
fantastical  duke  of  dark  corners  had  been  at 
home,  he  had  lived.  \Exit  Isabella. 

139.  your  bosom,  your  heart's  149.  combined,  bound. 

desire.  164.     duke  of  daik  corners ; 

147.   to  the  head  of  Angelo,  \Q  the    innuendo    is   explained    by 

his  face.  Lucio's  next  speech. 

VOL.  Ill  321  Y 


Measure  for  Measure 


ACT  IV 


Duke.  Sir,  the  duke  is  marvellous  little  behold- 
ing to  your  reports ;  but  the  best  is,  he  lives  not 
in  them. 

Lucio.   Friar,    thou    knowest   not    the    duke   so 
well  as  I  do  :  he 's  a  better  woodman  than  thou  170 
takest  him  for. 

Duke.  Well,  you  '11  answer  this  one  day.  Fare 
ye  well. 

Lucio.  Na}',  tarry ;  I  '11  go  along  with  thee  :  I 
can  tell  thee  pretty  tales  of  the  duke. 

Duke.  You  have  told  me  too  many  of  him 
already,  sir,  if  they  be  true ;  if  not  true,  none 
were  enough. 

Lucio.  I  was  once  before  him  for  getting  a 
wench  with  child.  180 

Duke.   Did  you  such  a  thing? 

Lucio.  Yes,  marry,  did  I :  but  I  was  fain  to 
forswear  it ;  they  would  else  have  married  me  to 
the  rotten  medlar. 

Duke.   Sir,  your  company  is  fairer  than  honest. . 
Rest  you  well. 

Lucio.  By  my  troth,  I  '11  go  with  thee  to  the 
lane's  end  :  if  bawdy  talk  offend  you,  we  '11  have 
very  little  of  it.  Nay,  friar,  I  am  a  kind  of  burr ; 
I  shall  stick.  ~-— '>^.  [Exeunt.  190 


Scene  IV.     A  room  itt  Angelo's  house. 

Enter  Angelo  and  Escalus. 

EscaL  Every  letter  he  hath  writ  hath  dis- 
vouched  other. 

Ang.  In  most  uneven  and  distracted  manner. 
His   actions   show  much   like   to   madness :    pray 

170.   lijoodman,  hunter  (of  female  game). 
322 


sc.  IV  Measure  for  Measure 

heaven  his  wisdom  be  not  tainted !  And  why 
meet  him  at  the  gates,  and  redehver  our  authori- 
ties there  ? 

Escal.   I  guess  not. 

Ang.   And   why   should  we   proclaim   it   in   an 
hour  before  his  entering,  that  if  any  crave  redress   lo 
of  injustice,  they  should  exhibit  their  petitions  in 
the  street  ? 

Escal.  He  shows  his  reason  for  that :  to  have 
a  dispatch  of  complaints,  and  to  deliver  us  from 
devices  liereafter,  which  shall  then  have  no  power 
to  stand  against  us. 

Ang.  Well,  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  proclaimed 
betimes  i'  the  morn  ;  I  '11  call  you  at  your  house  : 
give  notice  to  such  men  of  sort  and  suit  as  are  to 
meet  him.  2° 

Escal.   I  shall,  sir.     Fare  you  well. 

A7ig.   Good  night.  {Exit  Escalus. 

This    deed    unshapes    me   quite,   makes    me    un- 

pregnant 
And  dull  to  all  proceedings.     A  deflower'd  maid ! 
And  by  an  eminent  body  that  enforced 
The  law  against  it !     But  that  her  tender  shame 
Will  not  proclaim  against  her  maiden  loss, 
How  might   she   tongue  me  !     Yet   reason   dares 

her  no ; 
For  my  authority  bears  of  a  credent  bulk, 
That  no  particular  scandal  once  can  touch  30 

6.    redeliver,   Capell's    emen-  29.   bears  of  a  credent  bulk. 

dation  for  Fj  re-liuer.  This   is   clearly   wrong,    but  no 

19.  7?!en  of  sort  and  suit,  rank  convincing  emendation  has  been 

and  service.      Suit  was  a  feudal  proposed.        '  Bears     a   credent 

term  for  the. duty  of  attendance  bulk,'  '  bears  so  credent  bulk,' 

on  the  liege-lord.  are  plausible.      '  Credent  bulk ' 

23.   unpregnant,  unready.  is  'weight  or  mass  of  credit.' 

28.  dares  her  no,  overawes  her 
from  it.  30-  particular,  private. 


Measure  for  Measure         act  iv 

But  it  confounds  the  breather.     He  should  have 

lived, 
Save  that  his  riotous  youth,  with  dangerous  sense, 
Might  in  the  times  to  come  have  ta'en  revenge. 
By  so  receiving  a  dishonour'd  life 
With  ransom  of  such  shame.     Would  yet  he  had 

lived  ! 
Alack,  when  once  our  grace  we  have  forgot. 
Nothing;  goes  right :  we  would,  and  we  would  not. 


Scene  V.     Fields  without  the  totun. 

Enter  Duke  in  his  own  habit,  and  Friar  Peter. 

Duke.  These  letters  at  fit  time  deliver  me  : 

\Giving  letters. 
The  provost  knows  our  purpose  and  our  plot. 
The  matter  being  afoot,  keep  your  instruction, 
And  hold  you  ever  to  our  special  drift ; 
Though  sometimes  you  do  blench  from  this  to  that, 
As  cause  doth  minister.      Go  call  at  Flavins'  house, 
And  tell  him  where  I  stay  :  give  the  like  notice 
To  Valentinus,  Rowland,  and  to  Crassus, 
And  bid  them  bring  the  trumpets  to  the  gate ; 
But  send  me  Flavius  first. 

Fri.  P.  It  shall  be  speeded  well.     {Exit.   lo 

Enter  Varrius. 

Duke.   I  thank  thee,  Varrius ;  thou  hast  made 
good  haste  : 
Come,  we  will  walk.     There 's  other  of  our  friends 
Will  greet  us  here  anon,  my  gentle  Varrius. 

\Exeunt. 

5.   blench,  fly  off. 


sc.  VI  Measure  for  Measure 

Scene  VI.     Street  near  the  city  gate. 

Enter  Isabella  and  Mariana. 

Isah.   To  speak  so  indirectly  I  am  loath  : 
I  would  say  the  truth  ;  but  to  accuse  him  so, 
That  is  your  part :  yet  I  am  advised  to  do  it ; 
He  says,  to  veil  full  purpose. 

Man.  Be  ruled  by  him. 

Isab.   Besides,  he  tells  me  that,  if  peradventure 
He  speak  against  me  on  the  adverse  side, 
I  should  not  think  it  strange  ;  for  'tis  a  physic 
That 's  bitter  to  sweet  end. 

Mart.   I  would  Pnar  Peter — 

Jsab.  O,  peace  !  the  friar  is  come. 

Enter  Friar  Peter. 

Fri.  P.   Come,   I  have  found  you  out  a  stand 
most  fit,  lo 

Where  you  may  have  such  vantage  on  the  duke, 
He  shall  not  pass  you.     Twice  have  the  trumpets 

sounded ; 
The  generous  and  gravest  citizens 
Have  hent  the  gates,  and  very  near  upon 
The  duke  is  entering  :  therefore,  hence,  away  1 

\Exeunt. 

13.  generous,  most  generous  ;  14.  very  near  upon  the  duke 
best-born  {-est  of  '  gravest '  is  entering,  is  on  the  point  of 
qualifies  both  adjectives).  entering. 

14.  Iient,  passed. 


325 


Measure  for  Measure 


ACT  V 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.     The  city  gate. 

Mariana  veiled,  Isabella,  and  Friar  Peter, 
at  their  stand.  Enter  Duke,  Varrius, 
Lords,  Angelo,  Escalus,  Lucio,  Provost, 
Officers,  and  Citizens,  at  several  doors. 

Duke.   !My  very  worthy  cousin,  fairly  met ! 
Our  old  and  faithful  friend,  we  are  glad  to  see  you. 

„  *■     |-  Happy  return  be  to  your  royal  grace  ! 

Duke.    Many  and  hearty  thankings  to  you  both. 
We  have  made  inquiry  of  you  ;  and  we  hear 
Such  goodness  of  your  justice,  that  our  soul 
Cannot  but  yield  you  forth  to  public  thanks, 
Forerunning  more  requital. 

Ang.  You  make  my  bonds  still  greater. 

Duke.  O,  your  desert  speaks  loud ;  and  I  should 
wrong  it, 
To  lock  it  in  the  wards  of  covert  bosom,  » 

When  it  deserves,  with  characters  of  brass, 
A  forted  residence  'gainst  the  tooth  of  time 
And  razure  of  oblivion.      Give  me  your  hand, 
And  let  the  subject  see,  to  make  them  know 
That  outward  courtesies  would  fain  proclaim 
Favours  that  keep  within.     Come,  Escalus, 
You  must  walk  by  us  on  our  other  hand ; 
And  good  supporters  are  you. 

12.   A  forted  residence  'gainst,  a  residence  fortified  against. 

326 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

Friar  Peter  atid  Isabella  come  forward. 

Fri.    P.     Now  is  your   time  :    speak  loud  and 
kneel  before  him. 

Isab.  Justice,  O  royal  duke  !     Vail  your  regard     2c 
Upon  a  wrong'd,  I  would  fain  have  said,  a  maid  ! 
O  worthy  prince,  dishonour  not  your  eye 
By  throwing  it  on  any  other  object 
Till  you  have  heard  me  in  my  true  complaint 
And  given  me  justice,  justice,  justice,  justice  ! 

Duke.   Relate  your  wrongs  ;  in  what  ?  by  whom  ? 
be  brief. 
Here  is  Lord  Angelo  shall  give  you  justice : 
Reveal  yourself  to  him. 

Isab.  O  worthy  duke, 

You  bid  me  seek  redemption  of  the  devil : 
Hear  me  yourself ;  for  that  which  I  must  speak        30 
Must  either  punish  me,  not  being  believed. 
Or  wring  redress  from  you.      Hear  me,  O  hear  me, 
here ! 

Ang.    My  lord,   her  wits,   I   fear  me,  are   not 
firm  : 
She  hath  been  a  suitor  to  me  for  her  brother 
Cut  off  by  course  of  justice, — 

Isab.  By  course  of  justice  ! 

A7ig.    And   she   will    speak    most   bitterly  and 
strange. 

Isab.   Most  strange,  but  yet  most  truly,  will  I 
speak  : 
That  Angelo  's  forsworn  ;  is  it  not  strange  ? 
That  Angelo 's  a  murderer  ;  is  't  not  strange  ? 
That  Angelo  is  an  adulterous  thief,  40 

An  hypocrite,  a  virgin-violator; 
Is  it  not  strange  and  strange  ? 

Duke.  Nay,  it  is  ten  times  strange. 

20.    Vail,  lower. 


Measure  for  Measure  act  v 

Isab.  It  is  not  truer  he  is  Angelo 
Than  this  is  all  as  true  as  it  is  strange : 
Nay,  it  is  ten  times  true ;  for  truth  is  truth 
To  the  end  of  reckoning. 

Duke.  Away  with  her  !     Poor  soul, 

She  speaks  this  in  the  infirmity  of  sense. 

Isab.    O   prince,    I   conjure   thee,   as   thou  be- 
lievest 
There  is  another  comfort  than  this  world, 
That  thou  neglect  me  not,  with  that  opinion  50 

That   I   am   touch'd   with  madness !     Make    not 

impossible 
That  which  but  seems  unlike :  'tis  not  impossible 
But  one,  the  wicked'st  caitiff  on  the  ground. 
May  seem  as  shy,  as  grave,  as  just,  as  absolute 
As  Angelo  ;  even  so  may  Angelo, 
In  all  his  dressings,  characts,  titles,  forms, 
Be  an  arch-villain  ;  believe  it,  royal  prince  : 
If  he  be  less,  he  's  nothing ;  but  he 's  more, 
Had  I  more  name  for  badness. 

Duke.  By  mine  honesty, 

If  she  be  mad, — as  I  believe  no  other, —  60 

Her  madness  hath  the  oddest  frame  of  sense, 
Such  a  dependency  of  thing  on  thing. 
As  e'er  I  heard  in  madness. 

Isab.  O  gracious  duke, 

Harp  not  on  that,  nor  do  not  banish  reason 
For  inequality ;  but  let  your  reason  serve 
To  make  the  truth  appear  where  it  seems  hid, 
And  hide  the  false  seems  true. 

Duke.  Many  that  are  not  mad 

Have,  sure,  more   lack  of  reason.     What  would 
you  say? 

Isab.  I  am  the  sister  of  one  Claudio, 

52.   ««/?/J<?,  unlikely.  56.  fAarizcA,  distinctive  marks. 

54.   absolute,  faultless.  65.   inequalily,  inconsistency. 

328 


SC.  I 


Measure  for  Measure 


Condemn'd  upon  the  act  of  fornication  70 

To  lose  his  head  ;  condemn'd  by  Angelo : 

I,  in  probation  of  a  sisterhood, 

Was  sent  to  by  my  brother ;  one  Lucio 

As  then  the  messenger, — 

Lucio.  That 's  I,  an 't  hke  your  grace : 

I  came  to  her  from  Claudio,  and  desired  her 
To  try  her  gracious  fortune  with  Lord  Angelo 
For  her  poor  brother's  pardon. 

Jsab.  That 's  he  indeed. 

Duke.  You  were  not  bid  to  speak. 

Lucio.  No,  my  good  lord ; 

Nor  wish'd  to  hold  my  peace. 

Duke.  I  wish  you  now,  then ; 

Pray  you,  take  note  of  it :  and  when  you  have  80 

A  business  for  yourself,  pray  heaven  you  then 
Be  perfect. 

Lucio.  I  warrant  your  honour. 

Duke.    The  warrant's  for  yourself;  take  heed 
to't. 

Lsab.    This  gentleman   told    somewhat    of   my 
tale, — 

Lucio.   Right. 

Diike.   It  may  be  right ;  but  you  are  i'  the  wrong 
To  speak  before  your  time.     Proceed. 

Lsab.  I  went 

To  this  pernicious  caitiff  deputy, — 

Duke.  That 's  somewhat  madly  spoken. 

Lsab.  Pardon  it ; 

The  phrase  is  to  the  matter.  90 

Duke.   Mended  again.     The  matter ;  proceed. 

Lsab.  In  brief,  to  set  the  needless  process  by, 
How  I  persuaded,  how  I  pray'd,  and  kneel'd. 
How  he  refell'd  me,  and  how  I  replied, — 

90.  to  the  matter,  germane  to  the  matter,  fitted  to  the  facts. 
94.  refell'd,  rebutted. 

329 


Measure  for  Measure  act  v 

For  this  was  of  much  length, — the  vile  conclusion 
I  now  begin  with  grief  and  shame  to  utter : 
He  would  not,  but  by  gift  of  my  chaste  body 
To  his  concupiscible  intemperate  lust, 
Release  my  brother ;  and,  after  much  debatement, 
My  sisterly  remorse  confutes  mine  honour,  loo 

And  I  did  yield  to  him  :  but  the  next  morn  be- 
times, 
His  purpose  surfeiting,  he  sends  a  warrant 
For  my  poor  brother's  head. 

Biikc.  This  is  most  likely  ! 

Isab.   O,  that  it  were  as  like  as  it  is  true  ! 
Duke.    By  heaven,   fond  wretch,  thou  know'st 
not  what  thou  speak'st, 
Or  else  thou  art  suborn'd  against  his  honour 
In  hateful  practice.      First,  his  integrity 
Stands    without    blemish.      Next,    it    imports    no 

reason 
That  with  such  vehemency  he  should  pursue 
Faults  proper  to  himself:  if  he  had  so  offended,      no 
He  would  have  weigh'd  thy  brother  by  himself 
And  not  have  cut  him  off.     Some  one  hath  set 

you  on  : 
Confess  the  truth,  and  say  by  whose  advice 
Thou  earnest  here  to  complain. 

Jsab.  And  is  this  all  ? 

Then,  O  you  blessed  ministers  above, 
Keep  me  in  patience,  and  with  ripen'd  time 
Unfold  the  evil  which  is  here  wrapt  up 
In  countenance  !     Heaven  shield  your  grace  from 

woe, 
As  I,  thus  wrong'd,  hence  unbelieved  go  ! 

93.    concupiscible,     concupis-  108.  imports  no  reason,  carries 

cent.     The  termination  -ible  is  no  reason  with  it. 
active,  as  often.  118.   countenance,    authority; 

100.   remorse,  pity.  the  authoritative  protection  ex- 

107.  practice,  plot,  intrigue.  tended  to  Angelo. 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

Duke.    I  know  you 'Id  fain  be  gone.      An  officer  !   120 
To  prison  Avitli  her  !     Shall  we  thus  permit 
A  blasting  and  a  scandalous  breath  to  fall 
On  him  so  near  us  ?     This  needs  must  be  a  practice. 
Who  knew  of  your  intent  and  coming  hither? 

Isab.     One    that     I    would    were     here,    Friar 
Lodowick. 

Duke.    A  ghostly  father,  belike.     Who  knows 
that  Lodowick? 

Lucio.   My  lord,  I  know  him  ;  'tis  a  meddling 
friar ; 
I  do  not  like  the  man  :  had  he  been  lay,  my  lord, 
For  certain  words  he  spake  against  your  grace 
In  your  retirement,  I  had  swinged  him  soundly.       130 

Duke.   Words  against  me  !    this'   a  good  friar, 
belike  ! 
And  to  set  on  this  wretched  woman  here 
Against  our  substitute  !     Let  this  friar  be  found. 

Lucio.   But  yesternight,   my  lord,  she  and  that 
friar, 
I  saw  them  at  the  prison  :  a  saucy  friar, 
A  very  scurvy  fellow. 

Fri.  P.   Blessed  be  your  royal  grace  ! 
I  have  stood  by,  my  lord,  and  I  have  heard 
Your  royal  ear  abused.      First,  hath  this  woman 
Most  wrongfully  accused  your  substitute,  140 

Who  is  as  free  from  touch  or  soil  with  her 
As  she  from  one  ungot. 

Duke.  We  did  believe  no  less. 

Know  you  that  Friar  Lodowick  that  she  speaks  of? 

Fri.  P.   I  know  him  for  a  man  divine  and  holy ; 
Not  scurvy,  nor  a  temporary  meddler, 
As  he 's  reported  by  this  gentleman  ; 
And,  on  my  trust,  a  man  that  never  yet 

131.   this    (so  Fj),  this  is  ;  a  145.     temporary    meddler,   a 

frequent  colloquial  contraction.        meddler  in  temporal  affairs. 


Measure  for  Measure  actv 

Did,  as  he  vouches,  misreport  your  grace. 

Lucio.   My  lord,  most  villanously ;  believe  it. 

Fri.   P.   Well,   he  in  time   may  come   to  clear 
himself;  150 

But  at  this  instant  he  is  sick,  my  lord, 
Of  a  strange  fever.      Upon  his  mere  request, 
Being   come   to  knowledge   that   there  was  com- 
plaint 
Intended  'gainst  Lord  Angelo,  came  I  hither, 
To  speak,  as  from  his  mouth,  what  he  doth  know 
Is  true  and  false  ;  and  what  he  with  his  oath 
And  all  probation  will  make  up  full  clear, 
Whensoever  he  's  convented.    First,  for  this  woman, 
To  justify  this  worthy  nobleman, 
So  vulgarly  and  personally  accused,  160 

Her  shall  you  hear  disproved  to  her  eyes, 
Till  she  herself  confess  it, 

Duke.  Good  friar,  let 's  hear  it. 

[Isabella  is  carried  off  guarded  ;  atid 
Mariana  co?/ies  forward. 
Do  you  not  smile  at  this,  Lord  Angelo  ? 
O  heaven,  the  vanity  of  wretched  fools  ! 
Give  us  some  seats.     Come,  cousin  Angelo ; 
In  this  I  '11  be  impartial ;  be  you  judge 
Of  your  own  cause.      Is  this  the  witness,  friar? 
First,  let  her  show  her  face,  and  after  speak. 

Mari.   Pardon,  my  lord ;  I  will   not   show  my 
face 
Until  my  husband  bid  me.  170 

Duke.  What,  are  you  married  ? 

Mart.   No,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Are  you  a  maid  ? 

152.    upon  his  mere  request,  i6o.   vulgarly,  publicly, 

solely  at  his  request. 

158.  convented,  formally  sum-  166.  impartial,  unconcerned, 

moned.  not  taking  part. 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

Mari.  No,  my  lord. 

Duke.  A  widow,  then? 

Mari.   Neither,  my  lord. 

Duke.    Why,    you    are   nothing    then :    neither 
maid,  widow,  nor  wife  ? 

Lucio.   INIy  lord,  she  may  be  a  punk  ;  for  many 
of  them  are  neither  maid,  widow,  nor  wife.  180 

Duke.    Silence   that   fellow :    I   would   he  had 
some  cause 
To  prattle  for  himself. 

Lucio.  Well,  my  lord. 

Mari.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  I  ne'er  was  married ; 
And  I  confess  besides  I  am  no  maid  : 
I  have  known  my  husband ;  yet  my  husband 
Knows  not  that  ever  he  knew  me. 

Lucio.   He  was  drunk  then,  my  lord  :  it  can  be 
no  better. 

Duke.    For  the  benefit  of  silence,  would  thou  190 
wert  so  too  ! 

Lucio.  Well,  my  lord. 

Duke.   This  is  no  witness  for  Lord  Angelo. 

Mari    Now  I  come  to  't,  my  lord  : 
She  that  accuses  him  of  fornication. 
In  self-same  manner  doth  accuse  my  husband, 
And  charges  him,  my  lord,  with  such  a  time 
When  I  '11  depose  I  had  him  in  mine  arms 
With  all  the  effect  of  love. 

Aug.  Charges  she  more  than  me? 

Mari.  Not  that  I  know.  200 

Duke.   No  ?  you  say  your  husband. 

Mari.  Why,  just,  my  lord,  and  that  is  Angelo, 
Who  thinks   he   knows  that    he   ne'er   knew   my 

body,- 
But  knows  he  thinks  that  he  knows  Isabel's. 

Ang.  This  is  a  strange  abuse.    Let 's  see  thy  face. 

205.   abuse,  imposition. 

333 


Measure  for  Measure  actv 

Mart.   My  husband  bids  me;  now  I  will  un- 
mask. [  Unveiling, 
This  is  that  face,  thou  cruel  Angelo, 
Which  once  thou  sworest  was  worth  the  looking 

on ; 
This  is  the  hand  which,  with  a  vow'd  contract, 
Was  fast  belock'd  in  thine ;  this  is  the  body  aio 

That  took  away  the  match  from  Isabel, 
And  did  supply  thee  at  thy  garden-house 
In  her  imagined  person. 

Duke.  Know  you  this  woman  ? 

Lucio.   Carnally,  she  says. 

Duke.  Sirrah,  no  more  ! 

Lucio.   Enough,  my  lord. 

Ang.    My  lord,   I    must  confess    I    know   this 
woman  : 
And   five  years  since  there  was   some  speech  of 

marriage 
Betwixt  myself  and  her ;  which  was  broke  off, 
Partly  for  that  her  promised  proportions 
Came  short  of  composition,  but  in  chief  aso 

For  that  her  reputation  was  disvalued 
In  levity  :  since  which  time  of  five  years 
I  never  spake  with  her,  saw  her,  nor  heard  from  her, 
Upon  my  faith  and  honour. 

Mart.  Noble  prince, 

As  there  comes  light  from  heaven  and  words  from 

breath. 
As  there  is  sense  in  truth  and  truth  in  virtue, 
I  am  afifianced  this  man's  wife  as  strongly 
As  words  could  make  up  vows  :  and,  my  good  lord, 
But  Tuesday  night  last  gone  in  's  garden-house 
He  knew  me  as  a  v>'ife.     As  this  is  true,  230 

212.    garden-house,    summer-  220.    of  composition,    of  the 

house.  stipulated  amount. 

219.  proportions,  portion. 

334 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

Let  me  in  safety  raise  me  from  my  knees ; 
Or  else  for  ever  be  confixed  here, 
A  marble  monument ! 

Afig.  I  did  but  smile  till  now : 

Now,  good  my  lord,  give  me  the  scope  of  justice; 
My  patience  here  is  touch'd.      I  do  perceive 
These  poor  informal  women  are  no  more 
But  instruments  of  some  more  mightier  member 
That  sets  them  on  :  let  me  have  way,  my  lord, 
To  find  this  practice  out. 

Duke.  Ay,  with  my  heart ; 

And  punish  them  to  your  height  of  pleasure.  340 

Thou  foolish  friar,  and  thou  pernicious  woman. 
Compact  with  her  that 's  gone,  think'st  thou  thy 

oaths, 
Though   they  would  swear  down  each   particular 

saint. 
Were  testimonies  against  his  worth  and  credit 
That 's  seal'd  in  approbation  ?     You,  Lord  Escalus, 
Sit  with  my  coushi ;  lend  him  your  kind  pains 
To  find  out  this  abuse,  whence  'tis  derived. 
There  is  another  friar  that  set  them  on ; 
Let  him  be  sent  for. 

J^ri.  P.  Would  he  were  here,  my  lord  !  for  he 
indeed  250 

Hath  set  the  women  on  to  this  complaint  : 
Your  provost  knows  the  place  where  he  abides 
And  he  may  fetch  him. 

Duke.  Go  do  it  instantly.      \Exit  Proz'ost. 

And  you,  my  noble  and  well-w^arranted  cousin. 
Whom  it  concerns  to  hear  this  matter  forth, 
Do  with  your  injuries  as  seems  you  best, 

236.      informal,      demented,  242.    Compact,  in  league, 

wanting  the  usual   measure   of  254.    ■well-warranted.      The 

intelligence.      A    '  formal   capa-  word   liiarrant  was  colloquially 

city '    meant   a   normal    under-  monosyllabic,    as    it    is    still   in 

standing.  dialect. 

335 


Measure  for  Measure  actv 

In  any  chastisement :  I  for  a  while  will  leave  you ; 
But  stir  not  you  till  you  have  well  determined 
Upon  these  slanderers. 

JEscaL   INIy  lord,  we  '11  do  it  throughly.  260 

\_Exit  Duke. 
Signior  Lucio,  did  not  you  say  you  knew  that  Friar 
Lodowick  to  be  a  dishonest  person? 

Lucio.  '  Cucullus  non  facit  monachum  : '  honest 
in  nothing  but  in  his  clothes  ;  and  one  that  hath 
spoke  most  villanous  speeches  of  the  duke. 

Escal.  We  shall  entreat  you  to  abide  here  till 
he  come  and  enforce  them  against  him  :  we  shall 
find  this  friar  a  notable  fellow. 

Lucio.   As  any  in  Vienna,  on  my  word. 

Escal.   Call  that  same  Isabel  here  once  again  :  270 
I  would  speak  with   her.     \_Exit  an   Attendant?\ 
Pray  you,   my  lord,  give  me   leave   to   question ; 
you  shall  see  how  I  '11  handle  her. 

Lucio.   Not  better  than  he,  by  her  own  report. 

Escal.   Say  you  ? 

Lucio.  Marry,  sir,  I  think,  if  you  handled  her 
privately,  she  would  sooner  confess :  perchance, 
publicly,  she  '11  be  ashamed. 

Escal.   I  will  go  darkly  to  work  with  her. 

Lucio.    That 's  the  way ;    for  women   are  light  280 
at  midnight. 

Re-enter  Officers  with  Isabella  ;  and  Provost 
ivith  the  Duke  ///  his  friar's  habit. 

Escal.  Come  on,  mistress :  here 's  a  gentle- 
woman denies  all  that  you  have  said, 

Lucio.  My  lord,  here  comes  the  rascal  I  spoke 
of;  here  with  the  provost. 

Escal.  In  very  good  time :  speak  not  you  to 
him  till  we  call  upon  you, 

Lucio.   Mum. 

11^ 


SC.  I 


Measure  for  Measure 


Escal.  Come,  sir :  did  you  set  these  women  on 
to  slander  Lord  Angelo  ?  they  have  confessed  you  290 
did. 

Duke.  'Tis  false. 

Escal.   How  !  know  you  where  you  are  ? 

Duke.   Respect  to  your  great  place  !  and  let  the 
devil 
Be  sometime  honour'd  for  his  burning  throne  ! 
Where  is  the  duke  ?  'tis  he  should  hear  me  speak. 

Escal.   The  duke  's  in  us  ;  and  we  will  hear  you 
speak  : 
Look  you  speak  justly. 

Duke.  Boldly,  at  least.     But,  O,  poor  souls, 
Come  you  to  seek  the  lamb  here  of  the  fox  ?  300 

Good  night  to  your  redress  !     Is  the  duke  gone  ? 
Then  is  your  cause  gone  too.     The  duke  's  unjust, 
Thus  to  retort  your  manifest  appeal, 
And  put  your  trial  in  the  villain's  mouth 
Which  here  you  come  to  accuse. 

Lucio.  This  is  the  rascal ;  this  is  he  I  spoke  of. 

Escal.    Why,  thou  unreverend  and  unhallow'd 
friar, 
Is  't  not  enough  thou  hast  suborn'd  these  women 
To  accuse  this  worthy  man,  but,  in  foul  mouth 
And  in  the  witness  of  his  proper  ear,  310 

To  call  him  villain  ?  and  then  to  glance  from  him 
To  the  duke  himself,  to  tax  him  with  injustice? 
Take  him  hence ;   to  the  rack  with  him  !     We  'II 

touse  you 
Joint  by  joint,  but  we  will  know  his  purpose. 
What,  'unjust' ! 

Duke.  Be  not  so  hot ;  the  duke 

Dare  no  more  stretch  this  finger  of  mine  than  he 

303.  retort,  not  merely  reject,       dressed  to  the  man  whose  crime 
but     forcibly    turn    baclc    upon      was  the  subject  of  it. 
itself  by  causing   it    to   be  ad-  310.  proper,  own. 

VOL.  Ill  337  z 


Measure  for  Measure  Acrr 

Dare  rack  his  own  :  his  subject  am  I  not 
Nor  here  provincial.      My  business  in  this  state 
f  Made  me  a  looker  on  here  in  Vienna, 
Where  I  have  seen  corruption  boil  and  bubble         320 
Till  it  o'er-run  the  stew ;  laws  for  all  faults, 
But  faults  so  countenanced,  that  the  strong  statutes 
Stand  like  the  forfeits  in  a  barber's  shop, 
As  much  in  mock  as  mark. 

Escal.    Slander  to  the  state  !     Away  with  him 
to  prison  ! 

Ang.  What  can  you  vouch  against  him,  Signior 
Lucio  ? 
Is  this  the  man  that  you  did  tell  us  of? 

Liicio.  'Tis  he,  my  lord.  Come  hither,  good- 
man  baldpate  :  do  you  know  me  ? 

Duke.    I  remember  you,   sir,  by  the  sound   of  330 
your  voice  :  I  met  you  at  the  prison,  in  the  absence 
of  the  duke. 

Lucio.  O,  did  you  so  ?  And  do  you  remember 
what  you  said  of  the  duke  ? 

Duke.   Most  notedly,  sir. 

Lucio.  Do  you  so,  sir?  And  was  the  duke  a 
fleshmonger,  a  fool,  and  a  coward,  as  you  then 
reported  him  to  be? 

Duke.   You  must,  sir,  change  persons  with  me, 
ere  you  make  that  my  report :  you,  indeed,  spoke  340 
so  of  him  ;  and  much  more,  much  worse. 

Lucio.  O  thou  damnable  fellow !  Did  not  I 
pluck  thee  by  the  nose  for  thy  speeches? 

Duke.  I  protest  I  love  the  duke  as  I  love 
myself. 

21^.  Nor  here  provincial,  not  323.   the  forfeits  in  a  barber's 

subject  to  the  ecclesiastical  au-  shop,  the  fines  nominally  im- 
thorities  of  this  province.  posed  for  breach  of  the  (often 

jocular)  niles  of  behaviour  sus- 

321.   stew,  caldron.  pended  in  the  barbers'  shops. 


SC.   I 


Measure  for  Measure 


Ang.  Hark,  how  the  villain  would  close  now, 
after  his  treasonable  abuses  ! 

Escal.  Such  a  fellow  is  not  to  be  talked  withal. 
Away  with  him  to  prison  !  Where  is  the  provost  ? 
Away  with  him  to  prison  !  lay  bolis  enough  upon  350 
him  :  let  him  speak  no  more.  Away  with  those 
giglots  too,  and  with  the  other  confederate  com- 
panion ! 

Duke.   [To  Provost\  Stay,  sir ;  stay  awhile. 

A'fig.  What,  resists  he  ?     Help  him,  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Come,  sir ;  come,  sir ;  come,  sir ;  foh, 
sir  !  Why,  you  bald-pated,  lying  rascal,  you  must 
be  hooded,  must  you  ?  Show  your  knave's  visage, 
with  a  pox  to  you  !  show  your  sheep-biting  face, 
and  be  hanged  an  hour  !     Will 't  not  off?  360 

\_Pulls  off  the  friar's  hood,  and 
discovers  the  Duke. 

Duke.  Thou  art  the  first  knave  that  e'er  madest 
a  duke. 
First,  provost,  let  me  bail  these  gentle  three. 
[To  Lucio^   Sneak  not  away,  sir ;  for  the  friar  and 

you 
Must  have  a  word  anon.     Lay  hold  on  him. 

Lucio.  This  may  prove  worse  than  hanging. 

Duke.    [To  Escalus^  What   you   have  spoke  I 
pardon  :   sit  you  down  : 
We  '11  borrow  place  of  him.     [To  Angelo\  Sir,  by 

your  leave. 
Hast  thou  or  word,  or  wit,  or  impudence, 
That  yet  can  do  thee  office  ?     If  thou  hast, 
Rely  upon  it  till  my  tale  be  heard,  370 

And  hold  no  longer  out. 

Ang.      ,  O  my  dread  lord, 

I  should  be  guiltier  than  ray  guiltiness. 
To  think  I  can  be  undiscernible, 

346.   close,  make  terms.  352.  giglots,  loose  women. 

339 


Measure  for  Measure 


ACT  V 


When  I  perceive  your  grace,  like  power  divine, 
Hath  look'd  upon  my  passes.     Then,  good  prince, 
No  longer  session  hold  upon  my  shame, 
But  let  my  trial  be  mine  own  confession  : 
Immediate  sentence  then  and  sequent  death 
Is  all  the  grace  I  beg. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Mariana, 

Say,  wast  thou  e'er  contracted  to  this  woman? 

Aug.   I  was,  my  lord. 

Duke.     Go    take    her    hence,    and    marry    her 
instantly. 
Do  you  the  office,  friar  ;  which  consummate. 
Return  him  here  again.      Go  with  him,  provost. 

\_Exeutit  Angela,  Mariana,  Friar  Peter 

and  Provost. 

Escal.  My  lord,  I  am  more  amazed  at  his  dis- 
honour 
Than  at  the  strangeness  of  it. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Isabel. 

Your  friar  is  now  your  prince  :  as  I  was  then 
Adve'rtising  and  holy  to  your  business, 
Not  changing  heart  with  habit,  I  am  still 
Attorney'd  at  your  service. 

l^sab.  O,  give  me  pardon,      390 

That  I,  your  vassal,  have  employ'd  and  pain'd 
Your  unknown  sovereignty  ! 

Duke.  You  are  pardon'd,  Isabel : 

And  now,  dear  maid,  be  you  as  free  to  us. 
Your  brother's  death,  I  know,  sits  at  your  heart ; 
And  you  may  marvel  why  I  obscured  myself. 
Labouring  to  save  his  life,  and  would  not  rather 
Make  rash  remonstrance  of  my  hidden  power 
Than  let  him  so  be  lost.     O  most  kind  maid, 

375.  passes,  proceedings.  388.   holy  to,  devoted  to, 

388.      AdvMising,    instruct-  391.  pain'd,  put  to  trouble, 

ing.  393.  f?-ec,  generous. 


SC.   I 


Measure  for  Measure 


It  was  the  swift  celerity  of  his  death, 

Which  I  did  think  with  slower  foot  came  on,  400 

That   brain'd   my  purpose.      But,  peace   be  with 

him  ! 
That  life  is  better  life,  past  fearing  death. 
Than   that   which    lives    to   fear :    make    it    your 

comfort. 
So  happy  is  your  brother. 

Isab.  I  do,  my  lord. 

Re-enter  Angelo,  Mariana,  Friar  Peter, 
and  Provost. 

Duke.  For  this  new -married  man  approaching 

here, 
Whose  salt  imagination  yet  hath  wrong'd 
Your  well-defended  honour,  you  must  pardon 
For   Mariana's   sake :    but  as  he  adjudged   your 

brother, — 
Being  criminal,  in  double  violation 
Of  sacred  chastity  and  of  promise-breach  410 

Thereon  dependent,  for  your  brother's  life, — 
The  very  mercy  of  the  law  cries  out 
Most  audible,  even  from  his  proper  tongue, 
'  An  Angelo  for  Claudio,  death  for  death  ! ' 
Haste  still  pays  haste,  and  leisure  answers  leisure ; 
Like    doth    quit    hke,    and    measure    still    for 

measure. 
Then,  Angelo,  thy  fault 's  thus  manifested  ; 
Which,    though   thou   wouldst   deny,    denies   thee 

vantage. 
We  do  condemn  thee  to  the  very  block 
Where  Claudio   stoop'd  to  death,  and  with  like 

haste. .  4a« 

Away  with  him  ! 

406.   salt,  lustful. 
418.    denies  thee  vantage,  thy  denial  avails  thee  nothing. 


Measure  for  Measure  actv 

Mart.  O  my  most  gracious  lord, 

I  hope  you  will  not  mock  me  with  a  husband. 

Duke.   It  is  your  husband  mock'd  you  with  a 
husband. 
Consenting  to  the  safeguard  of  your  honour, 
I  thought  your  marriage  fit ;  else  imputation, 
For  that  he  knew  you,  might  reproach  your  life 
And  choke  your  good  to  come  :    for  his  posses- 
sions, 
Although  by  confiscation  they  are  ours, 
We  do  instate  and  widow  you  withal, 
To  buy  you  a  better  husband. 

Mari.  O  my  dear  lord,       430 

I  crave  no  other,  nor  no  better  man. 

Duke.   Never  crave  him  ;  we  are  definitive. 

Mari.   Gentle  my  liege, —  [Kneeling. 

Duke.  You  do  but  lose  your  labour. 

Away  with  him  to  death  !     \_To  Lucio]    Now,  sir, 
to  you. 

Mari.  O  my  good  lord  !     Sweet  Isabel,  take  my 
part ; 
Lend  me  your  knees,  and  all  my  life  to  come 
I  '11  lend  you  all  my  life  to  do  you  service. 

Duke.   Against  all  sense  you  do  importune  her : 
Should  she  kneel  down  in  mercy  of  this  fact, 
Her  brother's  ghost  his  paved  bed  would  break,       44a 
And  take  her  hence  in  horror. 

Mari.  Isabel, 

Sweet  Isabel,  do  yet  but  kneel  by  me ; 
Hold  up  your  hands,  say  nothing ;  I  '11  speak  all. 
They  say,  best  men  are  moulded  out  of  faults ; 
And,  for  the  most,  become  much  more  the  better 
For  being  a  little  bad  :  so  may  my  husband. 
O  Isabel,  will  you  not  lend  a  knee  ? 

Duke.  He  dies  for  Claudio's  death. 

429,  widow,  endow,  give  as  jointure, 
342 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

Isab.  IVIost  bounteous  sir,     \KneeUng. 

Look,  if  it  please  you,  on  this  man  condemn'd, 
As  if  iiiy  brother  Uved  :   I  partly  think  450 

A  due  sincerity  govern'd  his  deeds, 
Till  he  did  look  on  me  :  since  it  is  so. 
Let  him  not  die.     My  brother  had  but  justice, 
Tn  that  he  did  the  thing  for  which  he  died  : 
For  Angelo, 

His  act  did  not  o'ertake  his  bad  intent, 
And  must  be  buried  but  as  an  intent 
That  perish'd  by  the  way:  thoughts  are  no  subjects; 
Intents  but  merely  thoughts. 

Mart.  INIerely,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Your  suit 's  unprofitable  ;  stand  up,  I  say.  460 
I  have  bethought  me  of  another  fault. 
Provost,  how  came  it  Claudio  was  beheaded 
At  an  unusual  hour? 

Prov.  It  was  commanded  so. 

Duke.   Had  you  a  special  warrant  for  the  deed  ? 

Prov.    No,   my  good   lord ;    it  was   by  private 
message. 

Duke.   For  which  I  do  discharge  you  of  your 
office  : 
Give  up  your  keys. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  noble  lord  : 

I  thought  it  was  a  fault,  but  knew  it  not ; 
Yet  did  repent  me,  after  more  advice  : 
For  testimony  whereof,  one  in  the  prison,  470 

That  should  by  private  order  else  have  died, 
I  have  reserved  alive. 

Duke.  What 's  he  ? 

Prov.  His  name  is  Barnardine. 

Duke.   I  would  thou  hadst  done  so  by  Claudio. 
Go  fetch  him  hither  ;  let  me  look  upon  him. 

[Exit  Provost 
469.  advice,  reflection. 
343 


Measure  for  Measure  act  v 

Escal.   I  am  sorry,  one  so  learned  and  so  wise 
As  you,  Lord  Angelo,  have  still  appear'd, 
Should  slip  so  grossly,  both  in  the  heat  of  blood, 
And  lack  of  temper'd  judgement  afterward.  'r 

Afjg.   I  am  sorry  that  such  sorrow  I  procure : 
And  so  deep  sticks  it  in  my  penitent  heart  480 

That  I  crave  death  more  willingly  than  mercy ; 
'Tis  my  deserving,  and  I  do  entreat  it. 

Re-enter  Provost,  with  Barnardine,  Claudio 
muffled,  and  Juliet. 

Duke.  Which  is  that  Barnardine  ? 
PrmK  This,  my  lord. 

Duke.  There  was  a  friar  told  me  of  this  man. 
Sirrah,  thou  art  said  to  have  a  stubborn  soul. 
That  apprehends  no  further  than  this  world, 
And   squarest   thy  life   according.     Thou 'rt   con- 

demn'd  : 
But,  for  those  earthly  faults,  I  quit  them  all ; 
And  pray  thee  take  this  mercy  to  provide 
For  better  times  to  come.     Friar,  advise  him  ;         490 
I  leave  him  to  your  hand.     What  muffled  fellow 's 
that? 
Prov.  This  is  another  prisoner  that  I  saved, 
Who   should   have    died   when    Claudio    lost    his 

head ; 
As  like  almost  to  Claudio  as  himself 

[  Unmiffles  Claudio. 
Duke.   [To  Isabella']    If  he  be  like  your  brother, 
for  his  sake 
Is  he  pardon'd  ;  and,  for  your  lovely  sake, 
Give  me  your  hand  and  say  you  will  be  mine, 

490.    advise   him,    give   him  lute,  but  express  the  condition 

spiritual  counsel.  by  which   Claudio   will  become 

497.   Give  me  your  hand,  etc.  his  brother  :   *  provided  that  you 

The  imperatives  are  not  abso-  give,'  etc. 

344 


sc.  I  Measure  for  Measure 

He  is  my  brother  too :  but  fitter  time  for  that. 

By  this  Lord  Angelo  perceives  he  's  safe ; 

Methinks  I  see  a  quickening  in  his  eye.  soo 

Well,  Angelo,  your  evil  quits  you  well : 

Look  that  you  love  your  wife;  her  worth  worth 

yours. 
I  find  an  apt  remission  in  myself; 
And  yet  here 's  one  in  place  I  cannot  pardon. 
[To  Lucio\  You,  sirrah,  that  knew  me  for  a  fool, 

a  coward. 
One  all  of  luxury,  an  ass,  a  madman  ; 
Wherein  have  I  so  deserved  of  you, 
That  you  extol  me  thus  ? 

Lucio.   'Faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  it  but  according 
to  the   trick.      If  you   will   hang  me   for   it,   you  510 
may ;  but  I  had  rather  it  would  please  you  I  might 
be  whipt. 

Duke.  Whipt  first,  sir,  and  hanged  after. 
Proclaim  it,  provost,  round  about  the  city. 
Is  any  woman  wrong'd  by  this  lewd  fellow, 
As  I  have  heard  him  swear  himself  there  's  one 
Whom  he  begot  with  child,  let  her  appear. 
And  he  shall  marry  her :  the  nuptial  finish'd. 
Let  him  be  whipt  and  hang'd. 

Lucio.   I  beseech  your  highness,   do  not  marry  520 
me  to  a  whore.     Your  highness  said  even  now,  I 
made  you  a  duke  :   good  my  lord,  do  not  recom- 
pense me  in  making  me  a  cuckold. 

Duke.   Upon  mine  honour,  thou  shalt  marry  her. 
Thy  slanders  I  forgive  ;  and  therewithal 
Remit  thy  other  forfeits.     Take  him  to  prison ; 
And  see  our  pleasure  herein  executed. 

501.    quits  you  well,    brings  510.   trick,  fashion, 

you  in  a  good  return.  z^'z^^.  forfeits,  penalties.    Lucio 

503.   apt  remission,  readiness  is  therefore  not  (as  is  often  sup- 
to  pardon.  posed)  '  whipt  and  hanged,"  any 

506.   luxury,  licentiousness.  more  than  Angelo  is  beheaded. 

345 


Measure  for  Measure  actv 

Lticio.   Marrying  a  punk,  my  lord,  is  pressing  to 
death,  whipping,  and  hanging. 

Duke.   Slandering  a  prince  deserves  it.  530 

[Exeunt  Officers  7inth  Lucio. 
She,  Claudio,  that  ycu  wrong'd,  look  you  restore. 
Joy  to  you,  Mariana  !     Love  her,  Angelo  : 
I  have  confess'd  her  and  I  know  her  virtue. 
Thanks,  good  friend  Escalus,  for  thy  much  good- 
ness : 
There  's  more  behind  that  is  more  gratulate. 
Thanks,  provost,  for  thy  care  and  secrecy  : 
We  shall  employ  thee  in  a  worthier  place. 
Forgive  him,  Angelo,  that  brought  you  home 
The  head  of  Ragozine  for  Claudio's  : 
The  offence  pardons  itself      Dear  Isabel,  S4a 

I  have  a  motion  much  imports  your  good ; 
Whereto  if  you  '11  a  willing  ear  incline. 
What 's  mine  is  yours  and  what  is  yours  is  mine. 
So,  bring  us  to  our  palace ;  where  we  '11  show 
What 's    yet  behind,  that 's   meet  you  all   should 
know.  \Exeunt. 

535-  gratulate,  gratifying. 


346 


TROILUS    AND    CRESSIDA 


347 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

Priam,  king  of  Troy. 

Hector, 

Troilus, 

Paris,  ^his  sons. 

Deiphobus, 

Helenus, 

Margarelon,  a  bastard  son  of  Priam. 

^NEAS,       1    ™      .  , 

Antenor,  I  T'"°>'^'^  commanders. 

Calchas,  a  Trojan  priest,  taking  part  with  the  Greeks 

Pandarus,  uncle  to  Cressida. 

Agamemnon,  the  Grecian  general. 

Menelaus,  his  brother. 

Achilles, 

Ajax, 

Ulysses,       I  Qre^ian  princes. 
Nestor,        ' 

DiOMEDES, 

Patroclus, 

Thersites,  a  deformed  and  scurrilous  Grecian. 

Alexander,  servant  to  Cressida. 

Servant  to  Troilus. 

Servant  to  Paris. 

Servant  to  Diomedes. 

Helen,  wife  to  Menelaus. 
Andromache,  wife  to  Hector. 
Cassandra,  daughter  to  Priam,  a  prophetess, 
Cressida,  daughter  to  Calchas. 

Trojan  and  Greek  Soldiers,  and  Attendants. 

Scene  :    Troy,  and  the  Grecian  camp  before  it. 

Dramatis  PersoncB.     The  list  was  first  added  by  Rowe. 


348 


INTRODUCTION 

The  fame  of  its  story  has  contributed  as  much  as 
its  many  enigmatic  and  its  many  splendid  qualities, 
to  give  this  drama  a  unique  position  among  Shake- 
speare's works.  Elsewhere,  Shakespeare  has  commonly 
avoided  the  great  master-themes  of  literature  ;  here  he 
became  the  rival  of  Chaucer,  Boccaccio  and  Homer. 
It  would  not  have  surprised  us  if  the  man  whose 
peculiar  art  lay  in  creating  '  a  soul  within  the  ribs ' 
of  a  dead  or  moribund  tale  should  have  failed  to 
figure  in  the  procession  of  the  poets  of  the  tale 
of  Troy.  But  it  is  strange  that,  in  that  procession, 
having  joined  it,  he  should  play  the  role  of  the  ironic 
caricaturist,  not  only  degrading  a  beautiful  and  noble 
tradition,  which  for  the  sake  of  dramatic  truth  he 
might,  but  degrading  it  without  vindicating  the  added 
'  realism '  by  added  reality.  Troilus  and  Cressida 
is  strangely  mingled  of  splendour  and  foulness,  of 
rhetorical  strength  and  dramatic  perversity.  In  its 
own  day  it  had,  as  it  always  must  have,  admiring 
readers  :  but  its  longueurs  told  on  the  stage,  and  its 
history  there  has  been  almost  a  blank.  The  most 
signal  event  in  the  history  was  without  doubt  the 
attempt  of  Dryden,  in  1679,  to  'correct'  what  he 
regarded  as  'one  of  Shakespeare's  first  endeavours 
for  the  stage.'  In  the  remarkable  preliminary  dis- 
course on  'The  grounds    of  Criticism  in  Tragedy' 

349 


Troilus  and  Cressida 

he  wrote  thus  of  it :  '  For  the  play  itself,  the 
Author  seems  to  have  begun  it  with  some  fire ;  the 
characters  of  Pandarus  and  Thersites  are  promising 
enough  ;  but  as  if  he  grew  weary  of  his  task,  after  an 
Entrance  or  two,  he  lets  'em  fall ;  and  the  later  part 
of  the  Tragedy  is  nothing  but  a  confusion  of  Drums 
and  Trumpets,  Excursions  and  Alarms.  The  chief 
persons,  who  give  name  to  the  Tragedy,  are  kept 
alive :  Cressida  is  false,  and  is  not  punish'd.  Yet 
after  all  because  the  piece  was  Shakespeare's,  and 
that  there  appear'd  in  some  places  of  it  the  admirable 
genius  of  the  author,  I  undertook  to  remove  that 
heap  of  rubbish  under  which  many  excellent  thoughts 
lay  wholly  bury'd,  in  particular,  at  the  suggestion  of 
Betherton,  one  between  Hector  and  Troilus.' 

Troilus  and  Cressida  was  first  printed  in  two 
quarto  editions  of  1609.  The  text  of  the  play  is 
identical  in  both ;  but  the  title-pages  differ,  and  are 
as  follows  : 

(i)  The  I  Historie  of  Troylus  |  and  Cresseida,  | 
As  it  was  acted  by  the  Kings  ATaiesties  \  seruants  at 
the  Globe.  |  Written  by  William  Shakespeare.  | 
London  |  Imprinted  by  G.  Eld  for  R.  Boniati  and 
H.  Walley,  and  |  are  to  be  sold  at  the  spred  Eagle 
in  Paules  |  Churchyard,  ouer  against  the  |  great 
North  doore,  |  1609.  | 

(2)  The  [  Famous  Historie  of  |  Troylus  and 
Cresseid.  |  Excellently  expressing  the  beginning  \  of 
their  loues,  with  the  conceited  wooing  |  of  Pandarus 
Prince  of  Licia.  \  Written  by  William  Shakespeare 
[the  remainder  as  in  (i)]. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  second  title  differs  from 
the  first  in  omitting  the  mention  of  a  performance. 
In  a  preface,  peculiar  to  (2),  the  reader  is  further 
assured  with  great  emphasis  that  he  has  here  'a 
new  play,  never  staled  with  the  stage,  never  clapper- 

350 


Introduction 

clawed  with  the  palms  of  the  vulgar,  and  yet  passing 
full  of  the  palm  comical'  The  anonymous  author  of 
this  preface,  which  is  a  vivacious  and  not  ill- written 
document,  goes  on  to  deliver  a  glowing  eulogy  of 
Shakespeare's  comedies,  'amongst  all  [which]  there 
is  none  more  witty  than  this ' ;  and  ends  with  a 
mocking  defiance  of  his  Company, — the  'grand 
possessors  '  of  the  IMS.  of  the  play,  now  piratically 
given  to  the  world. 

How  were  these  two  editions  related  ?  Two 
theories  have  been  advanced.  The  earlier  editors, 
taking  the  statements  of  the  title-page  of  (i)  and  the 
preface  of  (2)  literally,  inferred  that  the  performance 
by  the  King's  Servants  must  have  taken  place  in  the 
interval  between  them,  consequently  that  (i)  was 
later  than  (2).  But  the  Cambridge  editors  and  Mr. 
Stokes,  the  editor  of  the  Quarto  facsimile,  have 
shown,  from  a  close  examination  of  the  two  quartos, 
that  the  title  (i)  'was  the  original  one,  and  that  in 
some  copies  this  was  cancelled,  and  the  new  title 
and  preface  inserted  on  a  new  half-sheet  and  with  a 
new  signature.'  The  title  of  (i)  and  the  preface  of 
(2)  were  thus  brought  into  an  apparent  contradiction 
which  the  Cambridge  editors,  less  happily,  sought 
to  solve  by  suggesting  that  Quarto  (i)  was  issued  for 
the  theatre  and  Quarto  (2)  for  general  readers,  the 
assertion  that  the  play  was  '  new '  and  '  never  stal'd 
with  the  stage '  meaning  only  that  it  had  never  been 
printed  before  ; — '  unless  we  suppose  that  the  pub- 
lisher was  more  careful  to  say  what  would  recom- 
mend his  book  than  what  was  literally  true.' 

More  recent  study  of  the  play,  particularly  in  the 
light  of  contemporary  dramatic  history,  has  supplied 
a  more  satisfactory  solution.  Shakespeare,  as  will 
be  seen  below,  had  undoubtedly  been  occupied  at 
more  than  one  period  with  the  story  of  Troilus  and 

35V 


Troilus  and  Cressida 

Cressida ;  an  earlier  version  existed  and  had  been 
performed,  though  never  published ;  the  publishers 
of  the  final  version  seem  to  have  first  tried  to  re- 
commend it  to  those  who  remembered  the  old  play 
by  ignoring  its  differences,  and  then  to  those,  perhaps 
more  numerous,  who  *  praised  new-born  gauds,  tho' 
they  are  made  and  moulded  of  things  past,'  by 
ignoring  its  partial  identity. 

More  complex  questions  are  raised  by  the  version 
of  the  play  subsequently  included  in  the  Folio. 
Minute  examination  of  the  original  copies  has  dis- 
closed that  it  was  originally  meant  to  follow  Ro7tieo 
and  Juliet,  that  is,  to  stand  fourth  in  the  series  of 
Tragedies.  Finally,  however,  it  was  transferred  to  a 
neutral  place  between  the  Histories  and  Tragedies, 
— three  pages  (79,  80,  and  82)  retaining  the  original 
pagination,  and  the  original  heading  *  The  Tragedie  of 
Troyhis  and  Cressida,'  while  the  remainder  were  left 
unpaged  and  headed  with  the  bare  title  '  Troylus  and 
Cressida.''  The  pagination  of  the  Tragedies  begins 
with  the  next  play,  Coriolanus.  These  changes  seem 
to  show  that  the  Editors  hesitated,  as  well  they  might, 
to  include  it  among  the  Tragedies.  It  is  difficult  to 
believe,  however,  that  they  ever  thought  of  grouping  it 
with  the  well-defined  class  of  Shakespearean  Histories. 
The  place  assigned  to  it  at  the  last  moment  may 
express  merely  their  inability  to  classify  it  at  all. 

The  Folio  text  thus  published  differed  widely 
from  that  of  the  two  Quartos.  And  the  advantage 
does  not  lie  entirely  with  the  authentic  text.  The 
base-born,  it  must  be  allowed,  'tops  the  legitimate.' 
In  no  instance  was  the  claim  of  Heminge  and 
Condell  to  present  '  cured  and  perfect  of  their  limbs,' 
the  works  that  before  were  '  maimed  and  deformed,' 
more  gratuitous  than  in  this.  But  neither  text  is 
flawless. 

352 


Introduction 

The  divergences  may  be  grouped  as  follows  : — 
I.  Passages  wanting  in  one  text  (nearly  always  in 

the  Quarto).     These  include  : 

(i)  Passages    clearly    Shakespearean.     Several    of 

these   seem   rather  due    to    skilful  insertion    in    the 

one  text,  than  to  accidental  omission   in  the  other. 

Thus  :  iv.  4.  7  8  :  Q  has 

The  Grecian  youths  are  full  of  qualitie, 
And  swelling  ore  with  arts  and  exercise. 

Fj  has : 

The  Grecian  youths  are  full  of  qualitie, 

Their  loving  well  compos'd,  with  guift  of  nature, 

Flawing  [flowing]  and  swelling  ore  with  Arts  and  exercise. 

The  addition  converts  the  lines  from  Shakespeare's 
early  to  his  mature  manner. 

So,  in  iii.  3.  161,  the  fine  simile  of 'the  gallant 
horse  fall  'n  in  first  rank  '  is  omitted  in  Q.  Its  Shake- 
spearean quality  is  beyond  doubt,  but  it  adds  only 
to  the  beauty  of  the  passage,  not  to  its  sense  or 
clearness ;  the  metre  it  even  disturbs.  So,  prob- 
ably, in  iv.  5.  165-170,  the  style  of  which  strikingly 
contrasts  with  the  early  manner  of  the  preceding 
couplets. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  speech  of  Agamemnon  in 
i.  3.  70-75,  seems  to  be  an  integral  part  of  the  scene, 
omitted  perhaps,  on  account  of  a  too  transparent 
allusion  to  Dekker,  in  the  copy  from  which  Q  was 
printed. 

(ii)  Passages  clearly  non- Shakespearean  (in  F) : 
e.g.  V.  3.  112:  F-,^  has 

Pand.   Why,  but  heare  you  ? 

Trail.   Jlence  broker-lackie  !  ignomine  and  shame 
Pursue  thy  life,  and  liue  aye  with  thy  name. 

These  lines  F  repeats,  with  slight  variation,  in 
V.  10.  32. 

VOL.  Ill  353  2  A 


Troilus  and  Cressida 

2.    Variations. 

(i)   Blunders  in  Q  are  corrected  in  F, 

These  are  mostly  obvious  and  due  to  carelessness. 
The  more  phonetic  and  archaic  spelling  of  Q  is  also 
reduced  by  F  to  a  more  modern  type. 

One   of    the   most   curious   blunders   in   Q  is   in 
ii.  3.  222  : 
'  I'll  tell  his  humours  blood  '  for  '  I'll  let  his  humours  blood.' 

(ii)  But  the  F  makes  fresh  blunders  of  its  own. 
Thus  in  Troilus'  speech,  ii.  2.  45,  the  two  lines  45 
and  46  are  inverted  in  F,  making  nonsense. 

(iii)  In  a  few  cases,  a  reading  in  Q  not  in  itself 
suspicious  is  replaced  by  a  more  forcible  one  in  F  : 
Thus  :  ii.  2.  279  : 

(Q)  makes  pale  the  morning. 
(F)  makes  stale  the  morning. 

(iv)  But  in  a  far  larger  number  of  cases,  it  is  Q 
which  exhibits  the   more   forcible,  the  more  Shake- 
spearean  and    the   more   difificult   reading,    F  which 
substitutes  one  tamer  and  more  conventional. 
Thus:  ii.  2.  58  : 

Q  The  will  dotes,  that  is  attributive 
To  what  infectiously  itself  infects. 
F  inclinable. 

Q  ii.  3.  in: 

[The  elephant's]  legs  are  legs  for  necessity,  not  ioxjlexure, 
F  Jlight. 

So  iii.  3.  137  : 

Q  fasting.  F  feasting. 

iv.  4.  4  : 

violenteth  no  less, 

where  apparently  it  was  sought  to  regulate  the  metre. 
V.  2.  144 : 

Bi-fold  authority, 
Fj  By  foul  authority. 

354 


Introduction 

These  variations  point  to  the  following  conclusionsi 
The  Quarto  text  was  printed  somewhat  carelessly 
and  ignorantly  from  an  authentic  and  fairly  accurate 
copy  of  Shakespeare's  MS.  :  the  Folio  text,  also  care- 
lessly printed,  had  undergone  revision,  here  and  there 
from  Shakespeare's  hand,  but  to  a  much  greater 
extent  and  probably  after  his  death,  by  a  correcting 
and  polishing  editor  of  somewhat  inferior  quality. 

Apart  from  slight  additions  possibly  made  by 
Shakespeare  between  the  dates  of  the  Q  and  the  F, 
the  date  of  the  Quarto,  1609,  may  then  be  taken  as 
the  downward  limit  for  the  composition  of  the  play. 
It  is  certain  that  Shakespeare  had  been  concerned 
with  the  story  of  Troilus  and  Cressida  at  least  tea 
years  earlier ;  for  the  dramatic  satire,  Histnomasiix, 
which  cannot  be  later  than  1599,  contains  the  follow- 
ing burlesque  of  a  play  on  this  subject,  pointed  with 
a  pun  on  Shakespeare's  name  : 

Troy.   Come,  Cressida,  my  cresset  light, 
Thy  face  doth  shine  both  day  and  night. 
Behold,  behold,  thy  garter  blue  .   .   . 
Thy  knight  his  valiant  elbow  wears, 
That  when  he  shakes  his  furious  speare, 
The  foe  in  shivering  fearful  sort 
May  lay  him  down  in  death  to  snort. 

Cress.   O  knight,  with  valour  in  thy  face. 
Here  take  my  skreene,  wear  it  for  grace. 
Within  thy  helmet  put  the  same. 
Therewith  to  make  thy  enemies  lame. 

In  April  1599  another  play,  Troihis  and  Cressida., 
was  produced  by  Dekker  and  Chettle  for  Henslowe.^ 
Its  title  seems  to  have  been  finally  altered  to  The 
Tragedy  of  Agamemnon,  under  which  Henslowe  re- 
cords it  a  few  weeks  later.  On  7th  February  1602-3 
a  '  book '  called  Troilus  and  Cressida,  '  as  it  is  acted 
by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  men,'  was  entered  in  the 
^  Henslowe's  Diary,  under  this  date. 

355 


Troilus  and  Cressida 

Stationers'  Register  in  the  name  of  James  Roberts, 
to  be  printed  '  when  he  hath  gotten  sufficient  authority 
for  it.'  This  he  evidently  did  not  get ;  but  the  refer- 
ence to  Shakespeare's  company  leaves  no  doubt  that 
it  was,  in  some  form  or  other,  Shakespeare's  play. 

We  thus  have  evidence  of  a  Shakespearean  Troilus 
and  Cressida  that  was  satirised  in  1599,  of  one  that 
was  being  performed  in  1602-3,  and  of  one  that  was 
published  in  1609.  The  published  version  alone 
exists.      What  is  its  relation  to  the  others  ? 

The  plot,  as  we  have  it,  revolves  about  two  themes 
which  are  never  brought  into  close  relation,  viz.  the 
love-romance  of  Troilus  and  Cressida,  and  the  epic 
story  of  the  Wrath  of  Achilles.  It  is  convenient  to 
distinguish  them  as  *  The  Romance  '  and  *  The  (Greek 
or  Trojan)  Camp-scenes,'  although  some  later  scenes 
of  the  Romance  are  also  laid  in  the  Greek  camp. 
Many  critics  have  held  that  these  two  elements  repre- 
sent work  of  different  periods.^ 

Certain  discrepancies  point  to  an  imperfect  ac- 
commodation of  old  to  new.  In  the  second  scene 
Cressida  vents  her  ironical  admiration  upon  the 
Trojan  warriors  as  they  come  from  the  field  ;  but  in 
the  third  (i.  3.  362)  yEneas  regretfully  tells  Agamem- 
non how  Prince  Hector  has  'grown  rusty'  in  'this 
dull  and  long-continued  truce.' 

More  important  are  the  unmistakable  diversities  of 
style.  The  verse  of  the  Camp-scenes  stands  out  at 
once  by  its  sinewy  (but  not  yet  rugged)  strength,  its 
easy  magnificence  of  manner,  its  close-knit  thought 
and  swift  splendour  of  phrase.  The  verse  of  the 
Romances  preserves  much  of  the  fluid  sweetness  of 

1  Mr.  Fleay  has  specified  as  v.    i.,  2.  (contains  much  older 

later  work  the  following  scenes  :  work),  3.  1-97  {Life  and  Work 

i.  3.  ;  ii.  I. -3.  ;  iii.  3-  34  to  end;  of  Shakespeare,  p.  221). 
iv.    5.     (except    lines    12-53) ; 


Introduction 

the  early  Comedies.  Many  similarities  of  motive  and 
phrase  also  connect  the  Camp-scenes  with  the  work 
of  the  Hmiilct  period.  The  sense  of  the  foibles  of 
the  spoiled  child  of  fortune,  which  permitted  Shake- 
speare to  touch  with  hesitant  and  half-involuntary 
ridicule  the  figure  of  Caesar,  discharges  itself  in  un- 
reserved caricature  in  the  sketch  of  Achilles.  "When 
Achilles  will  not  to  the  field,  his  will  has  to  be  a  suffi- 
cient reason  to  the  Camp,  as  Caesar's  to  the  Senate 
(ii-  3-  173): 

Agam.   What's  his  excuse  ? 

Ulyss.  He  doth  rely  on  none. 

Ulysses,  preparing  to  set  the  lancet  to  his  '  swollen 
blood,'  is  found  by  him,  as  Hamlet  by  Polonius, 
'reading,'  and  answers  his  victim's  inquiries  by  an 
account  of  what  the  '  strange  fellow '  has  written  (cf. 
Hamlet,  ii.  2.  198).  Troilus  echoes  the  First  Player 
{Hamlet,  ii.  2.  495)  when  he  speaks  of '  fan  and  wind' 
of  Hector's  sword.  He  echoes  Hamlet  when  he 
asks  :  '  What  is  aught  but  as  'tis  valued  ? '  All  this 
tends  to  show  that  the  Camp -scenes,  as  we  have 
them,  may  probably  be  dated  betwen  1602  and  1605  ; 
while  in  the  Romance  much  survives  which  belonged 
to  the  earlier  version  burlesqued  in  1599. 

It  is  difficult,  again,  to  feel  that  the  Troilus  of  the 
Romance,  who  declares  himself 

weaker  than  a  woman's  tear, 

Less  valiant  than  the  virgin  in  the  night, 
And  skilless  as  unpractised  infancy, 

is  conceived  quite  in  the  same  vein  as  the  eloquent 
and  heroic  Troilus  of  the  council  chamber  and  the 
battlefield,  who  defends  the  retention  of  Helen  as 
'a  spur  to  valiant  and  magnanimous  deeds '  (ii.  2.), 
and  reproves  Hector  for  showing  mercy  to  the  fallen, 

357 


Troilus  and  Cressida 

It  is  significant  that  the  '  noble  green-goose '  of  one 
distinguished  critic  can  be  compared  by  another  ^  to 
the  great  soldier-king  of  England. 

The  story  of  Troilus  and  Cressida  was  known 
to  Shakespeare,  beyond  doubt,  in  Chaucer's  noble 
version.  To  Chaucer  the  story  was  a  '  tragedy,'  full 
of  the  matter  of  high  and  pathetic  romance.  The 
'  double  sorrow '  of  Troilus  is  its  theme,  and  the 
successive  epochs,  the  ascending  and  descending 
phases,  of  his  sorrow,  regulate  its  pauses  and  divisions. 
Cressida,  destined  to  become  a  by-word  for  falseness, 
is  invested  by  Chaucer  with  a  charm  of  naive  good 
faith  and  artless  grace  which  make  her  seem  rather 
a  piteous  victim  of  the  mysterious  tyranny  of  love. 
Even  Pandarus  discharges  his  base  office  with  so 
hearty  a  belief  in  it,  and  diffuses  over  it  such  an 
engaging  atmosphere  of  humanity,  good  humour  and 
good  sense,  that  he  triumphs  over  the  associations  of 
his  name. 

Yet  Chaucer's  temperament  was  too  complex  for 
the  pure  fervour  of  romance.  Even  the  exuberant 
eloquence  of  tlie  poet  of  Troilus  hardly  conceals  the 
subtle  smile,  half  wistful,  half  ironic,  of  Germanic 
fervour  tempered  by  Gallic  wit.  But  in  Shakespeare's 
version  the  subtle  smile  seems  to  break  into  derisive 
laughter.  His  Troilus  and  C  ressida  is  a  story  of 
fatuous  passion ;  Troilus  is  from  the  outset  visibly 
deluded,  Cressida  from  the  outset  a  wanton  coquette, 
Pandarus  an  odious  and  disreputable  '  broker-lackey.' 
The  dainty  virtue  of  Romance,  dexterously  refash- 
ioned but  carefully  preserved  by  Chaucer,  flutters 
in  shreds  and  patches,  and  naked  realism  freely 
obtrudes.  What  the  precise  bearing  of  these  facts 
may  be  upon  the  history  of  Shakespeare's  mind  and  art, 
is  one  of  the  most  elusive  of  Shakespearean  problems. 

^  Kreyssig,   Vorlesungen  iiber  Shakespeare. 


Introduction 

But,  however  anomalous  and  enigmatic  among  the 
works  of  Shakespeare,  this  famihar  travesty  of  classic 
story  was  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  temper  of  the  time. 
The  Elizabethan  Humanists  paid  a  somewhat  ironi- 
cal homage  to  the  classical  world.  They  delighted  to 
give  a  new  and  piquant  turn  to  its  venerable  forms, 
and  the  zest  of  caricature  to  its  solemn  heroics. 
Alexander,  Hector,  Pompey  were  'Worthies,'  staled 
like  the  rest  of  the  Nine  by  the  burlesque  glories  of 
fairs  and  shows.  The  Trojan  story  itself  had  been 
handled  a  few  years  earlier  than  Shakespeare  with 
a  familiar  realism  closely  resembling  his,  by  Robert 
Greene, — in  his  Euphues,  His  Ce7isiire  to  Philaiitus 
(1587).  This  romance  consists  of  a  series  of  tales 
told  by  Greek  and  Trojan  ladies  and  cavaliers  at  the 
social  reunions  which  they  have  devised  to  enliven  the 
'dull  truce.'  The  stories  are  interspersed  with  lively 
debate  and  repartee,  in  the  esteemed  manner  of 
Lyly's  supper-parties, — a  manner  which  effectively  dis- 
pels the  enchantment  of  Homeric  names  and  fames. 
The  speakers  are  introduced  each  with  his  appended 
label  of  explanatory  antithesis  :  '  Hector,  as  choleric 
as  she  was  scrupulous ' ;  '  Ulysses,  desiring  to  have 
insight  into  the  manners  of  men ' ;  '  Andromache, 
[who]  thought  a  litde  to  be  pleesant  and  yet  satyricall.' 
Among  the  rest  appear  the  lovers  of  our  play : 
'Troilus,  willing  to  show  that  the  weapons  of  Troy 
were  as  sharp  ground  as  the  swords  of  the  Grecians  ' ; 
and  Cressida,  *  tickled  a  little  with  half-conceit  of  her 
own  wit,'  even  to  the  point  of  interrupting  Ulysses. 
Here  we  have,  it  would  seem,  the  germ  of  the  flippant 
and  witty  Cressida  of  Shakespeare.  Greene's  Trojans 
and  Greeks  are  indeed  far  less  akin  to  their  Homeric 
prototypes  than  Shakespeare's,  self-conscious  classic 
and  '  Master  of  Arts  of  both  Universities '  though  he 
was ;  and  he  is  still  freer  than  Shakespeare  from  the 

359 


Troilus  and  Cressida 

niceties  of  chronological  pedantry.  An  incidental 
allusion  to  Aristotle  escapes  the  lips  of  the  Shake- 
spearean Hector;  but  the  whole  of  Greek  literature 
and  philosophy  is  a  familiar  topic  to  the  Dardans 
and  Argives  of  Greene.  '  Doe  wee  not  know,'  asks 
Polyxena,  'our  enemies  are  Grecians,  taught  in  their 
schooles  amongst  their  philosophers,  that  all  wisdome 
is  honest  that  is  profitable,'  etc.  Others  quote 
Theocritus,  'that  ancient  poet  of  ours,'  Hermes 
Trismegistus,  even  Epictetus.  The  Greenian  Troy- 
scenes  cannot  for  a  moment  be  compared  with 
Shakespeare's  in  brilliance ;  but  they  belong  to  the 
same  genre ;  and,  however  ludicrous  may  be  the 
position  of  Greene,  with  his  insipid  and  faded 
romances,  as  a  mediator  between  Chaucer  and  Shake- 
speare, he  has  in  literary  history  some  title  to  that 
position.^  It  has  been  seen  that  Shakespeare  was 
concerned  with  the  story  as  early  as  1599.  The 
finished  portrait  of  Cressida  in  the  extant  play  may 
be  later,  but  cannot  be  much  earlier  than  that  date. 
In  power  of  psychological  revelation,  in  absolute  sub- 
ordination of  lyric  to  dramatic  expression,  in  natural- 
ness of  dialogue,  her  character  is  the  creation  of  a 
riper  art  than  either  Juliet  or  Portia. 

The  germ  of  the  Camp-scenes  is  also  obvious  in 
Greene.  He  too  had  presented  the  prodigies  of 
Greek  and  Trojan  valour  in  familiar  undress,  and 
ironically  emphasised  their  weaker  moments.  But 
the  dramatic  incidents  were  taken  over  from  the 
accredited  histories  of  the  siege, — from  Caxton's 
Recuyell  of  the  histories  of  Troye  and  Lydgate's  Troy- 
boke — the  one  translated  from  Raoul  le  Fevre,  the 
other  from  Guido  di  Colonna.  In  1598  Chapman 
published  the  first  instalment  of  his  translation  of  the 

^  Cf.    a   fuller    treatment    of      Transactions  of  the  New  Shak- 
this  point,  by  the  writer,  in  the      spere  Society,  1887-90,  pp.  186  f. 

360 


Introduction 

Iliad.  Shakespeare  undoubtedly  '  looked  into '  it ;  and 
the  issue  of  the  process  was,  significantly,  not  a  sonnet, 
but  the  character  of  Thersites.  The  scenes  which 
have  any  connexion  whatever  with  the  Troilus  story 
are  comparatively  few  and  slight ;  they  begin  in  the 
third  act,  with  Calchas'  appeal  for  the  exchange  of 
Antenor  for  Cressida.  This  business  is  but  a  pass- 
ing episode  in  the  great  debates  and  conflicts  which 
turn,  like  the  Iliad  itself,  upon  the  wrath  of  Achilles ; 
debates  full  of  magnificent  rhetoric,  but  irrelevant  to 
the  plot  and  tedious  to  the  stage-goer  as  such.  It 
is  natural  to  suspect  that  they  had  some  purpose 
beyond  theatrical  effect. 

An  elaborate  attempt  to  demonstrate  such  a 
purpose  has  been  made  by  Mr.  Fleay.  This  part  of 
the  play  is  in  his  view  a  prolonged  topical  allusion  to 
the  feud  which  raged  in  15 99-1601  between  Jonson 
of  the  one  part  and  Dekker  of  the  other,  with 
Marston  as  Dekker's  fierce  but  fluctuating  ally. 
Jonson  had  in  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour  (1599) 
and  then  in  Cynthia's  Revets  (1600),  heaped  upon 
both  poets  insults  not  easily  forgiven ;  Dekker 
in  1 60 1  retorted  with  the  Satiromastix,  which  had 
the  merit  of  evoking,  by  anticipation,  the  greatest 
topical  comedy  in  the  language,  Jonson's  Poetaster. 
In  the  following  year  Jonson  and  Marston  were  again 
on  good  terms.  That  Shakespeare  mingled  in  this 
fray  there  is  no  entirely  decisive  evidence.  But  the 
language  of  Kempe  in  the  Return  from  Parnassus 
1602,  'O,  that  Ben  Jonson  is  a  pestilent  fellow;  he 
brought  up  Horace  giving  the  poets  a  pill  [in  the 
Poetaster\h\it  our  fellow  Shakespeare  hath  given  him 
a  purge  that  made  him  bewray  his  credit,'  certainly 
gives  colour  to  the  viev/  that  some  of  his  work  had  a 
direct  bearing  on  it ;  and  there  are  beyond  question 
certain  scenes  and  passages  in   Troilus  and  Cressida 

361 


Troilus  and  Cressida 

which  gain  in  point  and  humour  when  read  in  this 
light.  Alexander's  elaborate  description  of  Ajax  in 
i,  I.  18-31  applies  at  least  as  well  to  Jonson;^ 
*  rank '  Thersites  '  with  his  mastic  jaws '  looks  very 
like  a  reference  to  the  flagellant  Dekker  of  the 
Satiromastix,  whom  Jonson  hinitelf  had  called  '  one 
of  the  most  overflowing  rank  wits  of  Rome  ' ;  and  the 
burlesque  upon  Homeric  heroes  would  have  a  certain 
point  as  a  rejoinder  to  Jonson's  satirical  travesty  of 
Augustan  poets. 

It  is  equally  clear,  however,  that  in  their  present 
state,  and  as  a  whole,  these  scenes  cannot  be  regarded 
either  as  an  attack  upon  Jonson,  or  as  even  a  distant 
reflection  of  the  'battle  of  the  Theatres.'  If  the 
'  dull,  brainless '  Ajax,  whom  Ulysses  befools  and  who 
replies  with  inarticulate  oaths  and  curses  to  Thersites' 
biting  gibes,  was  meant  to  ridicule  the  most  powerful 
intellect,  next  to  Shakespeare's  own,  then  engaged  in 
the  drama,  satire  never  more  egregiously  missed  its 
mark,  or  better  deserved  to  be  flung  back  upon  the 
satirist.  Moreover,  if  Shakespeare  intervened  on 
Dekker's  side,  the  portrait  of  Thersites  was  a  singular 
mode  of  defending  his  ally.  That  Shakespeare  should 
have  condescended,  in  the  year  of  Hamlet,  to  make 
his  art  the  vehicle  of  a  serious  personal  attack,  is 
in  any  case  hardly  credible.  But  the  battle  of  the 
theatres  had  its  ludicrous  aspects,  and  he  may  have 
availed  himself  of  the  machinery  provided  by  the 
Iliad  to  exhibit  these  from  the  standpoint  of  a  genial 
Olympian,  whose  large  humanity  apprehended  the 
strength  and  weakness  of  the  combatants  better  than 

^  Mr.    Fleay  aptly  compares  of  a  most  divine  temper,  one  in 

the  description  of  Ajax  here  as  whom  the  humours  and  elements 

one    'into   whom    nature   bath  are  peaceably  met,'  to  which  he 

crowded  humours '  with  Crites-  regards  it  as  'a  good-humoured 

Jonson's    self-estimate   in    Cyn-  reply.' 
thia  s Revels,  ii.  i,  as  'a  creature 

362 


Introduction 

they  did  themselves.  In  this  sense  the  bout  between 
Ajax  and  Thersites  may  still  figure  the  feud  of  Jonson 
and  Dekker,  but  Ajax  is  Dekker's  Jonson,  and 
Thersites  is  Jonson's  Dekker,  and  half  the  comedy 
consists  in  the  grossness  of  the  travesty. 

But  it  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  work  so  instinct 
with  Shakespeare's  maturest  powers  as  the  finest  camp- 
scenes  could  have  had  merely  a  temporary  or  topical 
intention.  These  must  have  acquired  their  present 
form  as  integral  portions  of  the  drama  of  Troilus  and 
Cressida,  and  have  been  brought  at  some  point  into 
a  more  vital  relation  with  the  Troilus  and  Cressida 
story  than  they  can  ever  have  possessed  as  mere 
portions  of  the  plot.  The  bright  bubble  of  Cressida's 
love  which  dazzles  and  seduces  Troilus  and  finally 
breaks  before  his  eyes  as  he  watches  with  Ulysses  at 
Cressida's  tent  (v.  2.),  has  its  counterpart  in  other 
bubbles — some  more  magnificent,  some  more  sordid 
— which  here  flutter  before  the  eyes  of  heroes,  and 
touch  their  heroism  with  fatuity  like  his.  Woman's 
love  throughout  the  play  appears  as  a  fatal  spell, 
emasculating  valour,  consuming  the  '  heart '  that  spurs 
men  forth  to  battle.  Troilus'  opening  words  strike 
the  keynote  : — 

Each  Trojan  that  is  master  of  his  heart, 
Let  him  to  field  ;  Troilus,  alas  !  hath  none. 

He  recovers  his  heart  and  his  valour  only  when 
Cressida  is  no  longer  his.  Helen  is  a  more  seductive 
Cressida,  and  Paris  a  more  effeminate  Troilus ;  Achilles 
is  '  thwarted '  from  his  great  purpose  to  do  battle  with 
Hector  by  a  previous  engagement  with  Polyxena 
(v.  I.) ;  Hector  himself,  arming  for  the  field,  has  sternly 
to  silence  a  foolishly  protesting  Andromache,  whose 
proper  place  is  in  the  women's  quarters  (whither 
she  is  peremptorily  sent),  not  by  her  husband's  side 

363 


Troiius  and  Cressida 

(v.  3.).  Of  the  love  that  ennobles  and  inspires  there 
is  nowhere  any  glimpse.  The  sense  of  the  disasters 
that  come  from  women,  which  underlies  Measure  for 
Measure  and  Antofiy  and  Cleopatra,  is  as  pervading 
here,  though  it  is  exhibited  rather  in  a  diffusion  of 
ignoble  or  grotesque  blots  and  scars  than  in  such 
abysmal  collapse  or  sublime  ruin  as  those  of  Angelo 
and  Antony. 

But  Troiius  and  Cressida  differs  from  the  greatest 
of  the  Roman  tragedies  in  so  far  as  the  atmosphere 
of  illusion  and  fatuity  embraces  the  masters  of  state- 
craft and  war  who  are  exempt  from  love.  The  cold 
Octavius,  who  gathers  Antony's  neglected  harvest, 
does  not  greatly  interest  Shakespeare,  but  his  cool 
mastery  of  all  the  elements  of  his  colossal  task,  his 
perfect  adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  the  absolute 
precision  of  his  workmanship  in  the  building  up  of 
empire,  receives  its  meed  of  recognition  from  the 
successful  player  who  had  bought  'the  best  house  in 
Stratford  town.'  Just  these  qualities  of  proportion 
and  solidity  are  glaringly  absent  in  the  camps  of  the 
Shakespearean  Greeks  and  Trojans.  The  heroes  of 
both  camps  are  superb  figures,  magnificently  endowed 
with  valour  or  with  eloquence  or  with  wisdom  ;  but 
in  each  there  lurks  'the  little  rift  within  the  lute,' 
and  these  imposing  impersonations  of  heroism  are 
touched  with  an  air  of  solemn  futility.  Achilles  is 
eloquent,  but  his  divine  wrath  has  sunk  into  a  fop- 
pish fume,  his  cruelty  into  the  cowardly  baseness 
which  permits  him  to  fall  with  all  his  myrmidons 
upon  the  unarmed  Hector. 

Hector  himself  is  a  nobler  figure,  and  yet  chivalry 
is  made  ridiculous  in  Hector's  challenge  to  Ajax,  in 
the  jealous  intrigues  it  occasions,  and  in  his  solemn 
withdrawal  at  the  last  moment  out  of  pious  regard  for 
the  blood  of  his  *  sacred  aunt '  flowing  in  Ajax's  veins. 

364 


Introduction 

And  militant  patriotism  is  made  ridiculous  in  Hector's 
abrupt  revulsion  from  the  opinion  that  Helen  must 
be  restored,  to  the  opinion  that  she  must  be  kept : 

Hector's  opinion 
Is  this  in  way  of  truth  ;  yet  ne'ertheless, 
My  spritely  brethren,  I  propend  to  you 
In  resolution  to  keep  Helen  still, 
For  'tis  a  cause  that  hath  no  mean  dependance 
Upon  our  joint  and  several  dignities. 

No  such  gross  flaws  mar  the  clear  beauty  of 
Ulysses  and  Nestor.  Ulysses  is  the  mouthpiece  of 
Shakespeare's  ripest  political  wisdom  ;  his  speech  is 
packed  with  golden,  memorable,  and  well-remembered 
sayings.  He  is  'the  physician  of  the  iron  age,'  and 
not  only  lays  his  finger  with  faultless  precision  on 
the  ailing  place,  as  in  his  great  harangue  in  counsel 
(i.  3.)  and  his  still  loftier  apologue  to  Achilles  (iii.  3.), 
but  actually  applies  the  cauterising  cure,  when  he 
leads  Troilus  to  his  disillusion  at  the  tent  of  Cressida. 
Yet  even  the  wisdom  of  Ulysses  has  a  background 
of  unreason ;  and  the  jeers  of  the  base  and  brutal 
Thersites  at  the  '  war  for  a  placket '  do  not  entirely 
miss  their  application  to  any  one  concerned  in  it. 
The  master  of  civil  wisdom  and  mature  statecraft  is 
a  leader  in  the  fantastic  and  legendary  politics  of  the 
Trojan  war ;  and  his  magnificent  exposition  of  the 
conditions  of  an  ordered  polity  receives  an  ironical 
commentary  from  the  situation,  when  spoken  to  the 
chiefs  of  a  nation  upheaved  to  recover  an  eloped  wife, 
in  the  midst  of  their  thousand  ships  '  launched  by  a 
face.' 


365 


TROILUS    AND    CRESSIDA 


PROLOGUE. 

/  In'  Troy,   there   lies  the   scene.     From   isles  of 
Greece 
The  princes  orgulous,  their  high  blood  chafed, 
Have  to  the  port  of  xVthens  sent  their  ships, 
Fraught  with  the  ministers  and  instruments 
Of  cruel  war  :  sixty  and  nine,  that  wore 
Their  crownets  regal,  from  the  Athenian  bay 
Put  forth  toward  Phrygia ;  and  their  vow  is  made 
To  ransack  Troy,  within  whose  strong  immures 
The  ravish'd  Helen,  Menelaus'  queen, 
With  wanton  Paris  sleeps ;  and  that 's  the  quarrel    lo 
To  Tenedos  they  come ; 

And  the  deep-drawing  barks  do  there  disgorge 
Their  warlike  fraughtage  :   now  on  Dardan  plains 
The  fresh  and  yet  unbruised  Greeks  do  pitch 
Their  brave  pavilions  :  Priam's  six-gated  city, 
Dardan,  and  Tymbria,  Helias,  Chetas,  Troien, 
And  Antenorides,  with  massy  staples 

\-v.   1-31.   This  occurs  only  in  of  the  six  gates  as  modified  by 

the  Ff.  mediaeval   tradition.       The   last 

2.  orgulqus,  hatighty.  five  are  given  in  Lydgate's  Troy' 

6.   crownets,  coronets.  boke   in    the   forms  :     Tymbria, 

8.  immures,  enclosing-walls.  Helyas,   Cetheas,   Trojana,  An- 

16.   Dardan,  etc. ,  the  names  thonydes. 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

And  corresponsive  and  fulfilling  bolts, 

Sperr  up  the  sons  of  Troy. 

Now  expectation,  tickling  skittish  spirits,  30 

On  one  and  other  side,  Trojan  and  Greek, 

Sets  all  on  hazard  :  and  hither  am  I  come 

A  prologue  arm'd,  but  not  in  confidence 

Of  author's  pen  or  actor's  voice,  but  suited 

In  like  conditions  as  our  argument, 

To  tell  you,  fair  beholders,  that  our  play 

Leaps  o'er  the  vaunt  and  firstlings  of  those  broils, 

Beginning  in  the  middle,  starting  thence  away 

To  what  may  be  digested  in  a  play. 

Like  or  find  fault ;  do  as  your  pleasures  are  :  30 

Now  good  or  bad,  'tis  but  the  chance  of  war. 


ACT  L 

Scene  I,      Troy.     Before  Priam'' s  palace. 

Enter  Troilus  armed,  and  Pandarus. 

Tro.   Call  here  my  varlet ;  I  '11  unarm  again  : 
Why  should  I  war  without  the  walls  of  Troy, 
That  find  such  cruel  battle  here  within  ? 
Each  Trojan  that  is  master  of  his  heart. 
Let  him  to  field  ;  Troilus,  alas  !  hath  none. 

Pan.   Will  this  gear  ne'er  be  mended  ? 

Tro.  The  Greeks  are  strong  and  skilful  to  their 
strength, 

18.  fulfilling,  close-fitting.  23-25.     not   in    confidence  of 

19.  Sperr,  close,  barricade.  author  s  pen,  etc.,  not  in  defiant 
Theobald's  correction  for  Fj  championshipof  the  merits  of  the 
stirre.  P'ay,  but  because  the  argument 

23.    A  prologue  arm'd.     The  is  of  war. 

speaker  of   this    prologue   wore  27.     vaunt,     beginnings    {eit 

armour,    instead    of    the   usual  avant). 

black  cloak.  7.   to,  in  addition  to. 

368 


SC.   1 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


Fierce  to  their  skill  and  to  their  fierceness  valiant ; 

But  I  am  weaker  than  a  woman's  tear, 

Tamer  than  sleep,  fonder  than  ignorance,  lo 

Less  valiant  than  the  virgin  in  the  night 

And  skilless  as  unpractised  infancy. 

Pan.  Well,  I  have  told  you  enough  of  this  :  for 
my  part,  I  '11  not  meddle  nor  make  no  further. 
He  that  will  have  a  cake  out  of  the  wheat  must 
needs  tarry  the  grinding. 

Tro.   Have  I  not  tarried? 

Pa}i.   Ay,  the  grinding ;  but  you  must  tarry  the 
bolting. 

Tro.   Have  I  not  tarried  ? 

Pan.  Av,  the  bolting,  but  you  must  tarry  the 
leavening.  20 

Tro.  Still  have  I  tarried. 

Pan.  Ay,  to  the  leavening ;  but  here 's  yet  in 
the  word  '  hereafter '  the  kneading,  the  making  of 
the  cake,  the  heating  of  the  oven  and  the  baking ; 
nay,  you  must  stay  the  cooling  too,  or  you  may 
chance  to  burn  your  lips. 

Tro.   Patience  herself,  what  goddess  e'er  she  be, 
Doth  lesser  blench  at  sufferance  than  I  do. 
At  Priam's  royal  table  do  I  sit ; 

And  when  fair  Cressid  comes  into  my  thoughts, —   30 
So,   traitor !     '  When  she  comes  ! '    When   is   she 
thence  ? 

Pan.  Well,  she  looked  yesternight  fairer  than 
ever  I  saw  her  look,  or  any  woman  else. 

Tro.   I  was  about  to  tell  thee  : — when  my  heart, 
As  wedged  with  a  sigh,  would  rive  in  twain. 
Lest  Hector  or  my  father  should  perceive  me, 

18.  bolting,  s\i\!m%.  thence.'     Ff.   '  So  (traitor)  then 

she  comes,  when  she  is  thence.' 
31.     Q    reads :     '  So     traitor      The  correction  and  punctxiation 
then    she   comes    when    she    is      are  Rowe's. 

VOL.  Ill  369  2  B 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

I  have,  as  when  the  sun  doth  light  a  storm, 

Buried  this  sigh  in  wrinkle  of  a  smile  : 

But  sorrow,  that  is  couch'd  in  seeming  gladness. 

Is  like  that  mirth  fate  turns  to  sudden  sadness.  40 

Fan.  An  her  hair  were  not  somewhat  darker 
than  Helen's — well,  go  to — there  were  no  more 
comparison  between  the  women  :  but,  for  my  part, 
she  is  my  kinswoman  ;  I  would  not,  as  they  term 
it,  praise  her  :  but  I  would  somebody  had  heard 
her  talk  yesterday,  as  I  did.  I  will  not  dispraise 
your  sister  Cassandra's  wit,  but — 

Tro.  O  Pandarus  !   I  tell  thee,  Pandarus, — 
When  I  do  tell  thee,  there  my  hopes  lie  drown'd, 
Reply  not  in  how  many  fathoms  deep  50 

They  lie  indrench'd.      I  tell  thee  I  am  mad 
In  Cressid's  love  :  thou  answer'st  '  she  is  fair ; ' 
Pour'st  in  the  open  ulcer  of  my  heart 
Her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  cheek,  her  gait,  her  voice, 
Handiest  in  thy  discourse,  O,  that  her  hand, 
In  whose  comparison  all  whites  are  ink, 
Writing  their  own  reproach,  to  whose  soft  seizure     i-»|^ 
The  cygnet's  down  is  harsh  and  spirit  of  sense 
Hard  as  the  palm  of  ploughman :  this  thou  tell'st  me, 
As  true  thou  tell'st  me,  when  I  say  I  love  her  ;  60 

But,  saying  thus,  instead  of  oil  and  balm. 
Thou  lay'st  in  every  gash  that  love  hath  given  me 
The  knife  that  made  it. 

Pan.   I  speak  no  more  than  truth. 

Tro.  Thou  dost  not  speak  so  much. 

Pan.  Faith,  I  '11  not  meddle  in  't.  Let  her  be 
as  she  is  :  if  she  be  fair,  'tis  the  better  for  her ;  an 
she  be  not,  she  has  the  mends  in  her  own  hands. 

55.   that  her  hand,  that  hand  most  delicate,  sensibility. 
of  hers.  68.    has    the    mends    in    her 

57.  seizure,  clasp.  own  hands,  must  make  the  best 

58.  spirit  of  sense,  the  finest,  of  it. 


SC.  I 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


Tro.  Good  Pandarus,  how  now,  Pandarus! 

Pan.   I  have  had  my  labour  for  my  travail ;  ill-  70 
thought  on  of  her  and  ill-thought  on  of  you  ;  gone 
between   and   between,  but  small  thanks  for  my 
labour. 

Tro.  What,  art  thou  angry,  Pandarus?  what, 
with  me  ? 

Pan.  Because  she  's  kin  to  me,  therefore  she  's 
not  so  fair  as  Helen  :  an  she  were  not  kin  to  me, 
she  would  be  as  fair  on  Friday  as  Helen  is  on 
Sunday.  But  what  care  I?  I  care  not  an  she 
were  a  black-a-moor ;  'tis  all  one  to  me.  80 

Tro.   Say  I  she  is  not  fair  ? 

Pan.  I  do  not  care  whether  you  do  or  no. 
She  's  a  fool  to  stay  behind  her  father ;  let  her  to 
the  Greeks ;  and  so  I  '11  tell  her  the  next  time  I 
see  her :  for  my  part,  I  '11  meddle  nor  make  no 
more  i'  the  matter. 

Tro.   Pandarus, — • 

Pan.   Not  I.    - 

Tro.   Sweet  Pandarus, — 

Pan.   Pray  you,  speak  no  more  to  me  :  I  will  90 
leave  all  as  I  found  it,  and  there  an  end. 

\Exit  Pandarus.      An  alarum. 

Tro.   Peace,  you  ungracious  clamours !    peace, 
rude  sounds  ! 
Fools  on  both  sides  !     Helen  must  needs  be  fair. 
When  with  your  blood  you  daily  paint  her  thus. 
I  cannot  fight  upon  this  argument ; 
It  is  too  starved  a  subject  for  my  sword. 
But  Pandarus, — O  gods,  how  do  you  plague  me ! 
I  cannot  come  to  Cressid  but  by  Pandar ; 
And  he 's  as  tetchy  to  be  woo'd  to  woo, 
As  she  is  stubborn-chaste  against  all  suit.  100 

Tell  me,  Apollo,  for  thy  Daphne's  love, 

99.   tetchy  to  be,  irritable  on  being. 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

What  Cressid  is,  what  Pandar,  and  what  we  ? 
Her  bed  is  India ;  there  she  lies,  a  pearl : 
Between  our  Ilium  and  where  she  resides. 
Let  it  be  call'd  the  wild  and  wandering  flood, 
Ourself  the  merchant,  and  this  sailing  Pandar 
Our  doubtful  hope,  our  convoy  and  our  bark. 

Alarutn.     Enter  .'Eneas. 

^ne.   How  now.  Prince  Troilus  !  wherefore  not 

afield? 
Tro.   Because  not  there  :  this  woman's  answer 

sorts,  -tXA    \y^ 

For  womanish  it  is  to  be  from  thence.  no 

What  news,  ./Eneas,  from  the  field  to-day  ? 

^ne.  That  Paris  is  returned  home  and  hurt. 

Ti-o.   By  whom,  ^neas  ? 

^ne.  Troilus,  by  Menelaus, 

Tro.  Let  Paris  bleed  :  'tis  but  a  scar  to  scorn ; 
Paris  is  gored  with  Menelaus'  horn.  \Alaruin. 

^ne.  Hark,  what  good  sport  is  out  of  town  to-day  ! 

Tro.  Better  at  home,  if 'would  I  might'  were'may.' 
But  to  the  sport  abroad  :  are  you  bound  thither? 

yEne.   In  all  swift  haste. 

Tro,  Come,  go  we  then  together. 

\Exeunt. 

Scene  II.      The  satne.     A  street 

Enter  Cressida  and  Alexander. 

Cres.  Who  were  those  went  by  ? 

Alex.  Queen  Hecuba  and  Helen. 

Cres.   And  whither  go  they  ? 

104.  Ilium,  Priam's  palace,  distinction  is  urjknown  to  an- 
as distinguished  from  the  town  tiquity,  where  Ilium  and  Troy 
of  Troy,  where  Cressida  resides.  are  synonymous.  Shakespeare 
So  in  Ham.   ii,   2.    496,      This  found  it  in  the  Troy-boke. 


sc.  II  Troilus  and  Cresslda 

Alex.  Up  to  the  eastern  tower, 

Whose  height  commands  as  subject  all  the  vale, 
To  see  the  battle.     Hector,  whose  patience 
Is,  as  a  virtue,  fixed,  to-day  was  moved  : 
He  chid  Andromache  and  struck  his  armorer, 
And,  like  as  there  were  husbandry  in  war, 
Before  the  sun  rose  he  was  harness'd  light. 
And  to  the  field  goes  he ;  where  every  flower 
Did,  as  a  prophet,  weep  what  it  foresaw  xo 

In  Hector's  wrath. 

Cres.  What  was  his  cause  of  anger  ? 

Alex.  The  noise  goes,  this  :  there  is  among  the 
Greeks 
A  lord  of  Trojan  blood,  nephew  to  Hector ; 
They  call  him  Ajax. 

Cres.  Good  ;  and  what  of  him  ? 

Alex.   They  say  he  is  a  very  man  per  se, 
And  stands  alone. 

Cres.    So   do  all  men,  unless  they  are   drunk, 
sick,  or  have  no  legs. 

Alex.  This  man,  lady,  hath  robbed  many 
beasts  of  their  particular  additions ;  he  is  as  20 
valiant  as  the  lion,  churlish  as  the  bear,  slow  as 
the  elephant :  a  man  into  whom  nature  hath  so 
crowded  humours  that  his  valour  is  crushed  into 
folly,  his  folly  sauced  with  discretion  :  there  is  no 
man  hath  a  virtue  that  he  hath  not  a  glimpse  of, 
nor  any  man  an  attaint  but  he  carries  some  stain 
of  it :  he  is  melancholy  without  cause,  and  merry 
against  the  hair  :  he  hath  the  joints  of  every  thing, 

7.  kusbandry,\hr\{t;  of  which  28.  against  the  hair,  'i 
to  be  early  Stirring  was  regarded  contre-poil,'  against  the  grain, 
as  a  special  sign.  out  of  season. 

8.  light,  quickly. 

12.   noise,  report.  28.     joints,     limbs    (playing 

20.  particular  additions,  spe-  upon  the  more  usual  sense : 
dal  attributes.  '  juncture  of  limbs  '). 

373 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

but  every  thing  so  out  of  joint  that  he  is  a  gouty 
Briareus,    many   hands   and   no   use,   or  purblind  30 
ArguSj  all  eyes  and  no  sight. 

Ores.  But  how  should  this  man,  that  makes  me 
smile,  make  Hector  angry  ? 

Alex.  They  say  hs  yesterday  coped  Hector  in 
the  battle  and  struck  him  down,  the  disdain  and 
shame  whereof  hath  ever  since  kept  Hector  fasting 
and  waking. 

Cres.   Vvho  comes  here? 

Alex.  Madam,  your  uncle  Pandarus. 

Enter  Pandarus. 

Cres.   Hector 's  a  gallant  man.  40 

Alex.  As  may  be  in  the  world,  lady. 

Pan.   What 's  that  ?  what 's  that  ? 

Cres.  Good  morrow,  uncle  Pandarus. 

Pan.  Good  morrow,  cousin  Cressid  :  what  do 
you  talk  of?  Good  morrow,  Alexander.  How  do 
you,  cousin  ?     When  were  you  at  Ilium  ? 

Cres.  This  morning,  uncle. 

Pan.  What  were  you  talking  of  when  I  came  ? 
Was  Hector  armed  and  gone  ere  ye  came  to 
Ilium  ?     Helen  was  not  up,  was  she  ?  50 

Cres.   Hector  was  gone,  but  Helen  was  not  up. 

Pan.   E'en  so  :  Hector  was  stirring  early. 

Cres.  That  were  we  talking  of,  and  of  his 
anger. 

Pan.   Was  he  angry  ? 

Cres.   So  he  says  here. 

Pan.  True,  he  was  so  :  I  know  the  cause  too  : 
he  '11  lay  about  him  to-day,  I  can  tell  them  that : 

30.  Briareus,  a  hundred-  with  a  hundred  eyes,  mythically 
handed  monster  who  in  Greek  sa  d  to  survive  in  the  peacock's 
mythology    aided   Zeus   against      tail. 

the  Titans.  34.   coped,  encountered. 

31.  Argus,    a    like    monster  44.  cousin,  kinswoman,  niece. 

374 


SC.  II 


Troilus  and  Cresslda 


and  there 's  Troilus  will  not  come  far  behind  him ; 
let   them  take  heed  of  Troilus,   I   can  tell  them   60 
that  too. 

Cres.   What,  is  he  angry  too  ? 

Pan.  Who,  Troilus  ?  Troilus  is  the  better  man 
of  the  two. 

Cres.  O  Jupiter  !  there 's  no  comparison. 

Pan.  What,  not  between  Troilus  and  Hector? 
Do  you  knov/  a  man  if  you  see  him  ? 

Cres.  Ay,  if  I  ever  saw  him  before  and  knew 
him. 

Pan.  Well,  I  say  Troilus  is  Troilus.  70 

Cres.  Then  you  say  as  I  say ;  for,  I  am  sure, 
he  is  not  Hector. 

Pan.  No,  nor  Hector  is  not  Troilus  in  some 
degrees. 

Cres.  'Tis  just  to  each  of  them  ;  he  is  him- 
self. 

Pan.  Himself  1  Alas,  poor  Troilus  !  I  would 
he  were. 

Cres.   So  he  is. 

Pan.   Condition,  I  had  gone  barefoot  to  India.     80 

Cres.  He  is  not  Hector. 

Pan.  Himself!  no,  he's  not  himself:  would  a' 
were  himself !  Well,  the  gods  are  above ;  time 
must  friend  or  end  :  well,  Troilus,  well :  I  would 
my  heart  were  in  her  body.  No,  Hector  is  not  a 
better  man  than  Troilus. 

Cres.  Excuse  me. 

Pan.   He  is  elder. 

Cres.   Pardon  me,  pardon  me. 

Pan.  Th'  other  's  not  come  to 't ;  you  shall  tell   90 
me    another    tale,    when   th'    other 's    come   to 't. 
Hector  shall  not  have  his  wit  this  year. 

80.    Condition,  etc.,  on  condition  of  his  being  so,  I  would  have 
gone,  etc. 

375 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

Cres.   He  shall  not  need  it,  if  he  have  his  own. 

Pati.   Nor  his  qualities. 

Cres.   No  matter. 

Pan.   Nor  his  beauty. 

Cres.    'Twould    not    become    him ;    his    own's 
better. 

Pan.    You  have  no  judgement,  niece  :    Helen 
herself  swore   th'    other  day,  that  Troilus,  for  a  loo 
brown  favour — for  so   'tis,   I  must   confess, — not 
brown  neither, — 

Cres.   No,  but  brown. 

Pan.     'Faith,    to    say    truth,    brown    and    not 
brown. 

Cres.  To  say  the  truth,  true  and  not  true. 

Pan.   She  praised  his  complexion  above  Paris. 

Cres.  Why,  Paris  hath  colour  enough. 

Pan.   So  he  has. 

Cres.  Then  Troilus  should  have  too  much  :  if  no 
she  praised  him  above,  his  complexion  is  higher 
than  his ;  he  having  colour  enough,  and  the  other 
higher,  is  too  flaming  a  praise  for  a  good  com- 
plexion. I  had  as  lief  Helen's  golden  tongue  had 
commended  Troilus  for  a  copper  nose. 

Pan.   I  swear  to  you,  I  think  Helen  loves  him 
better  than  Paris. 

Cres.  Then  she's  a  merry  Greek  indeed. 

Pan.  Nay,  I  am  sure  she  does.      She  came  to 
him  th'  other  day  into  the  compassed  window, —  120 
and,  you  know,  he  has  not  past  three  or  four  hairs 
on  his  chin, — 

Cres.   Indeed,  a  tapster's  arithmetic  may  soon 
bring  his  particulars  therein  to  a  total. 

118.    merry   Greek,  this  char-  greek'  was   the   chief  figure  in 
acter   of  the    Greeks    was    pro-  Ralph  Roister  Doister. 
verbial  in  Elizabethan  England  120.  compassed  window,  bow- 
as  at  Rome.     '  Matthew  Merry-  window. 


r>J*« 


sc.  II  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Pati.  Why,  he  is  very  young :  and  yet  will  he, 
within  three  pound,  lift  as  much  as  his  brother 
Hector. 

Cres.  Is  he  so  young  a  man  and  so  old  a 
lifter? 

Pan.    But  to  prove   to  you  that   Helen    loves  130 
him  :  she  came  and  puts  me  her  white  hand  to 
his  cloven  chin — 

Cres.  Juno  have  mercy  !  how  came  it  cloven  ? 

Pan.  Why,  you  know,  'tis  dimpled  :  I  think  his 
smiling  becomes  him  better  than  any  man  in  all 
Phrygia. 

Cres.  O,  he  smiles  valiantly. 

Pan.   Does  he  not? 

Cres.   O  yes,  an  'twere  a  cloud  in  autumn.      '    T 

Pan.  Why,  go  to,  then  :  but  to   prove  to  you  140 
that  Helen  loves  Troilus, — 

Cres.  Troilus  will  stand  to  the  proof,  if  you  'II 
prove  it  so. 

Pan.  Troilus !  why,  he  esteems  her  no  more 
than  I  esteem  an  addle  egg. 

Cres.  If  you  love  an  addle  egg  as  well  as  you 
love  an  idle  head,  you  would  eat  chickens  i'  the 
shell. 

Pan.   I  cannot  choose  but  laugh,  to  think  how 
she  tickled  his  chin  :  indeed,  she  has  a  marvellous  150 
white  hand,  I  must  needs  confess, — 

Cres.   Without  the  rack. 

Pan.  And  she  takes  upon  her  to  spy  a  white 
hair  on  his  chin. 

Cres.   Alas,  poor  chin  !  many  a  wart  is  richer. 

Pan.  But  there  was  such  laughing !  Queen 
Hecuba  laughed  that  her  eyes  ran  o'er. 

Cres.  With  mill-stones. 

Pan.  And  Cassandra  laughed. 

139.  a  cloud  in  autumn,  i.e.  one  foretelling  rain. 

377 


*/ 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

Cres.   But  there  was  more  temperate  fire  under  160 
the  pot  of  her  eyes  :  did  her  eyes  run  o'er  too  ? 

Pan.   And  Hector  laughed. 

Cres.    At  what  was  all  this  laughing? 

Pan.     Marry,    at    the    white    hair    that    Helen 
spied  on  Troilus'  chin. 

Cres.    An 't   had  been  a  green   hair,   I   should 
have  laughed  too. 

Pan.    They  laughed  not  so   much  at  the  hair 
as  at  his  pretty  answer. 

Cres.  What  was  his  answer?  170 

Pan.    Quoth   she,   '  Here 's   but   two   and   fifty 
hairs  on  your  chin,  and  one  of  them  is  white.' 

C7'es.  This  is  her  question. 

Pan.  That 's  true  ;  make  no  question  of  that. 
'Two  and  fifty  hairs,'  quoth  he,  'and  one  white: 
that  white  hair  is  my  father,  and  all  the  rest  are 
, his  sons.'  'Jupiter!'  quoth  she,  'which  of  these 
'hairs  is  Paris  my  husband  ? '  '  The  forked  one,' 
quoth  he,  '  pluck 't  out,  and  give  it  him.'  But 
there  was  such  laughing  !  and  Helen  so  blushed,  180 
and  Paris  so  chafed,  and  all  the  rest  so  laughed, 
that  it  passed. 

Cres.    So  let  it  now;    for  it  has  been  a  great 
while  going  by.    ^^C-- 

Pan.    Well,  cousin,  I  told  you  a  thing  yester- 
day ;  think  on  't. 

Cres.   So  I  do. 

Pan.  I  '11  be  sworn  'tis  true ;  he  will  weep  you, 
an  'twere  a  man  born  in  April. 

Cres.  And  I  '11  spring  up  in  his  tears,  an  'twere  190 
a  nettle  against  May.  \A  7-etreat  sounded. 

171.   two  and  ffty,  Theobald  laughed  surpassingly,  immoder- 
altered  to  one  and  fifty,  out  of  ately. 
regard  for  the  traditional  num- 
ber of  Priam's  sons.  189.   an  'twere,  as  if  it  were; 

181.   so  laughed,  th-at  it  passed,  just  like. 


sc-  ir  Troflus  and  Cressida 

Pan.  Hark  !  they  are  coming  from  the  field : 
shall  we  stand  up  here,  and  see  them  as  they 
pass  toward  Ilium  ?  good  niece,  do,  sweet  niece 
Cressida. 

Cres.  At  your  pleasure. 

Pati.  Here,  here,  here 's  an  excellent  place ; 
here  we  may  see  most  bravely  :  I  '11  tell  you  them 
all  by  their  names  as  they  pass  by ;  but  mark 
Troilus  above  the  rest.  200 

Ores.   Speak  not  so  loud. 

^NEAS  passes. 

Fan.  That 's  yEneas  :  is  not  that  a  brave  man  ? 
he  's  one  of  the  flowers  of  Troy,  I  can  tell  you : 
but  mark  Troilus ;  you  shall  see  anon. 

Antenor  passes. 

Cres.   Who 's  that  ? 

Pa7t.  That 's  Antenor  :  he  has  a  shrewd  wit, 
I  can  tell  you  ;  and  he 's  a  man  good  enough  :  he  's 
one  o'  the  soundest  judgements  in  Troy,  whoso- 
ever, and  a  proper  man  of  person.  When  comes 
Troilus  ?  I  '11  show  you  Troilus  anon  :  if  he  see  210 
me,  you  shall  see  him  nod  at  me. 

Cres.  Will  he  give  you  the  nod? 

Pan.  You  shall  see.  " 

Cres.   If  he  do,  the  rich  shall  have  more. 

Hector  passes. 
Pan.     That 's    Hector,    that,    that,    look    you, 

206.   In  the   Troy-boke    '  An-  ently  a  term  in  the  old  game  of 

thenor '   is  described  as  a  man  cards  called  Noddy.    This  word 

of  grave  hearing,  whose  speech  also      meant   fooi.        •  Cressida 

was  full  of  dry  jests.  means  to  call  Pandarus  noddy, 

209.   a  proper  tnan  of  person,  and  says  he  shall  by  more  nods 

a  man  of  fine  physique.  be  made    more    significantly  a 

212.  give  you  the  nod,  appar-  fool.' — Singer. 

379 


Troilus  and  Cressida  acti 

that ;  there 's  a  fellow  !  Go  thy  way,  Hector  ! 
There 's  a  brave  man,  niece.  O  brave  Hector  ! 
Look  how  he  looks  !  there  's  a  countenance  !  is  't 
not  a  brave  man  ? 

Cres.   O,  a  brave  man  !  220 

Pan.  Is  a'  not  ?  it  does  a  man's  heart  good. 
Look  you  what  hacks  are  on  his  helmet !  look  you 
yonder,  do  you  see  ?  look  you  there  :  there  's  no 
jesting ;  there  's  laying  on,  take  't  off  who  will,  as 
they  say  :  there  be  hacks  ! 

C7-es.   Be  those  with  swords  ?  '  1 

Pan.  Swords  I  any  thing,  he  cares  not ;  an  the 
devil  come  to  him,  it 's  all  one  :  by  God's  lid,  it 
does  one's  heart  good.  Yonder  comes  Paris, 
yonder  comes  Paris.  230 

Paris  passes. 

Look  ye  yonder,  niece ;  is 't  not  a  gallant  man 
too,  is 't  not  ?  Why,  this  is  brave  now.  Who  said 
he  came  hurt  home  to-day  ?  he  's  not  hurt :  why, 
this  will  do  Helen's  heart  good  now,  ha  !  Would 
I  could  see  Troilus  now  !  You  shall  see  Troilus 
anon. 

Helen  us  passes. 

Cres.  Who 's  that  ? 

Pan.  That 's  Helenus.  I  marvel  where  Troilus 
is.  That 's  Helenus.  I  think  he  went  not  forth 
to-day.     That 's  Helenus.  240 

Cres.   Can  Helenus  fight,  uncle? 

Pan.  Helenus  ?  no.  Yes,  he  '11  fight  indifferent 
well.  I  marvel  where  Troilus  is.  Hark  !  do  you 
not  hear  the  people  cry  '  Troilus  '  ?  Helenus  is  a 
priest. 

Cres.  What  sneaking  fellow  comes  yonder? 

380 


sc.  ir  Troilus  and  Cressida 

TnoiLvs  J>asses. 

Pan.  Where  ?  yonder  ?  that 's  Deiphobus.  Tis 
Troilus  !  there  's  a  man,  niece  !  Hem  !  Brave 
Troilus  !  the  prince  of  chivalry  ! 

Cres.   Peace,  for  shame,  peace  !  250 

Pan.   Mark  him  ;  note  him.     O  brave  Troilus  ! 

Look  well  upon  him,   niece  :    look   you   how  his 

sword  is  bloodied,  and  his  helm  more  hacked  than 

Hector's,  and  how  he  looks,  and  how  he  goes ! 

0  admirable  youth  !  he  ne'er  saw  three  and 
twenty.      Go  thy  way,  Troilus,  go  thy  way  !      Had 

1  a  sister  were  a  grace,  or  a  daughter  a  goddess, 
he  should  take  his  choice.  O  admirable  man  ! 
Paris  ?  Paris  is  dirt  to  him  ;  and,  I  warrant,  Helen, 

to  change,  would  give  an  eye  to  boot.  260 

Cres.   Here  come  more. 

Forces  pass. 

Pan.  Asses,  fools,  dolts  !  chaff  and  bran,  chaff 
and  bran  !  porridge  after  meat !  I  could  live  and 
die  i'  the  eyes  of  Troilus.  Ne'er  look,  ne'er  look  : 
the  eagles  are  gone  :  crows  and  daws,  crows  and 
daws  !  I  had  rather  be  such  a  man  as  Troilus 
than  Agamemnon  and  all  Greece. 

Cres.  There  is  among  the  Greeks  Achilles,  a 
better  man  than  Troilus. 

Pan.    Achilles  I    a   drayman,   a  porter,  a  very  270 
camel. 

Cres.  Well,  well. 

Pa7i.  '  Well,  well ! '  Why,  have  you  any  dis- 
cretion ?  have  you  any  eyes  ?  do  you  know  what 
a  man  is  ?  Is  not  birth,  beauty,  good  shape, 
discourse,  manhood,   learning,  gentleness,  virtue, 

260.   an  eye.     So  Q.     Ff  have  money. 
381 


Troilus  and  Cressida  acti 

youth,  liberality,  and  such  like,  the  spice  and  salt 
that  season  a  man  ? 

Cres.    Ay,   a   minced    man :    and    then    to    be 
baked  with  no  date  in  the  pie,  for  then  the  man's  280 
date  's  out. 

Pa7i.  You  are  such  a  woman !  one  knows  not 
at  what  ward  you  lie.    ,; 

Cres.  Upon  my  back,  to  defend  my  belly ; 
upon  my  wit,  to  defend  my  wiles ;  upon  my 
secrecy,  to  defend  mine  honesty ;  my  mask,  to 
defend  my  beauty ;  and  you,  to  defend  all  these  : 
and  at  all  these  wards  I  lie,  at  a  thousand 
watches. 

Pan.  Say  one  of  your  watches.  290 

Cres,  Nay,  I  '11  watch  you  for  that ;  and  that 's 
one  of  the  chiefest  of  them  too  :  if  I  cannot  ward 
what  I  would  not  have  hit,  I  can  watch  you  for 
telling  how  I  took  the  blow  ;  unless  it  swell  past 
hiding,  and  then  it 's  past  watching. 

Pan.   You  are  such  another  1 

Enter  Troilus's  Boy. 

Boy.  Sir,  my  lord  would  instantly  speak  with 
you. 

Pan.  Where? 

Boy.  At  your  own  house ;  there  he  unarms  him.  300 

Pan.  Good  boy,  tell  him  I  come.  \Exit  Boy.] 
I  doubt  he  be  hurt.      Fare  ye  well,  good  niece. 

Cres.  Adieu,  uncle. 

Pan.  I  '11  be  with  you,  niece,  by  and  by. 

280.  </afe/ the  date  was  much  '      293.   waU/z    you  for  telling, 

used    in     Elizabethan    cookery,  watch  lest  you  tell, 

hence  a  frequent  quibble.  302.    doubt  he  be,  fear  he  is. 

283.   at  what   ward  you   lie,  304.   I ' II  be  with  you  .   .  .  to 

what    posture    of    defence    you  bring   meant    '  I    will  pay  you 

assume    (metaphor    from     fen-  out,    be  even  with  you,'   hence 

cing).  Cressida's  quibble. 

382 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Cres.  To  bring,  uncle  ? 

Fan.   Ay,  a  token  from  Troilus. 

Cres.  By  the  same  token,  you  are  a  bawd. 

[Eai^  Pandarus. 
Words,  vows,  gifts,  tears,  and  love's  full  sacrifice, 
He  offers  in  another's  enterprise  : 
But  more  in  Troilus  thousand  fold  I  see  310 

Than  in  the  glass  of  Bandar's  praise  may  be ; 
Yet  hold  I  off.     Women  are  angels,  wooing : 
Things  won  are  done ;  joy's  soul  lies  in  the  doing. 
That  she  beloved  knows  nought  that  knows  not 

this: 
Men  prize  the  thing  ungain'd  more  than  it  is  : 
That  she  was  never  yet  that  ever  knew 
Love  got  so  sweet  as  when  desire  did  sue. 
Therefore  this  maxim  out  of  love  I  teach  : 
Achievement  is  command  ;  ungain'd,  beseech  : 
Then  though  my  heart's  content  firm  love  doth 

bear,  320 

Nothing  of  that  shall  from  mine  eyes  appear. 

\Exeuiit. 


Scene  III.     The  Grecian  camp.     Before 
AgameninorH s  tent. 

Sennet.     Enter  Agamemnon,  Nestor,  Ulysses,  A^' 
Menelaus,  and  others. 

Agani.   Princes, 
What  grief  hath  set  the  jaundice  on  your  cheeks  ? 
The  ample  proposition  that  hope  makes 
In  all  designs  begun  on  earth  below 

312.    wooing,   i.e.    while  still  ceive  command,   while  unwon, 

unwon.  entreaties. 

■^xg.Achievemeni  is  command,  Sennet,  set  of  notes  on  the 

etc.,  when  we  are  won  we  re-  trumpet. 

383 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

Fails  in  the  promised  largeness;  checks  and  disasters 

Grow  in  the  veins  of  actions  highest  rear'd, 

As  knots,  by  the  conflux  of  meeting  sap, 

Infect  the  sound  pine  and  divert  his  grain 

Tortive  and  errant  from  his  course  of  growth. 

Nor,  princes,  is  it  matter  new  to  us  lo 

That  we  come  short  of  our  suppose  so  far 

That  after  seven  years'  siege  yet  Troy  walls  stand ; 

Sith  every  action  that  hath  gone  before, 

Whereof  we  have  record,  trial  did  draw   >i^ 

Bias  and  thwart,  not  answering  the  aim,  ^ 

And  that  unbodied  figure  of  the  thought 

That   gave 't    surmised   shape.       Why    then,    you 

princes, 
Do  you  with  cheeks  abash'd  behold  our  works. 
And  call  them  shames  ?  which  are  indeed  nought 

else 
But  the  protractive  trials  of  great  Jove  so 

To  find  persistive  constancy  in  men  : 
The  fineness  of  which  metal  is  not  found 
In  fortune's  love  ;  for  then  the  bold  and  coward, 
The  wise  and  fool,  the  artist  and  unread,  -^  "' 

The  hard  and  soft,  seem  all  affined  and  kin  :  '  r  /- 

But,  in  the  wind  and  tempest  of  her  frown, 
Distinction,  with  a  broad  and  powerful  fan, 
Puffing  at  all,  winnows  the  light  away ; 
And  what  hath  mass  or  matter,  by  itself 
Lies  rich  in  virtue  and  unmingled.  30 

Nest.  With  due  observance  of  thy  godlike  seat, 

9.  Tortive  and  errant,  iv/isied  14.   draw  bias,  turn  awry, 

and  turned  astray.  24.   artist,  scholar. 

II.   suppose,  expectation.  25.   affined,  related. 

13-15.   every  action  .  .  .  trial  30.     unmingled      (four      syl- 

did  draw  bias  and  thwart,  all  lables). 

our  schemes  and    actions    have  31.   thy  godlike,     Theobald's 

been  distorted  and  thwarted  in  emendation   for   Q  the  godlike, 

the  execution.  Ff  thy  godly. 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Great  Agamemnon,  Nestor  shall  apply 

Thy  latest  words.      In  the  reproof  of  chance 

Lies  the  true  proof  of  men  :  the  sea  being  smooth, 

How  many  shallow  bauble  boats  dare  sail 

Upon  her  patient  breast,  making  their  way 

With  those  of  nobler  bulk  ! 

But  let  the  ruffian  Boreas  once  enrage 

The  gentle  Thetis,  and  anon  behold 

The  strong-ribb'd  bark  through  liquid  mountains 

cut,  4» 

Bounding  between  the  two  moist  elements. 
Like  Perseus'  horse  :  where  's  then  the  saucy  boat 
Whose  weak  untimber'd  sides  but  even  now 
Co-rivall'd  greatness  ?     Either  to  harbour  fled, 
Or  made  a  toast  for  Neptune.     Even  so   -<ic«-A-f2_ 
Doth  valour's  show  and  valour's  worth  divide 
In  storms  of  fortune  ;  for  in  her  ray  and  brightness 
The  herd  hath  more  annoyance  by  the  breese 
Than  by  the  tiger ;  but  when  the  splitting  wind 
Makes  flexible  the  knees  of  knotted  oaks,  50 

And  flies  fled  under  shade,  why,  then  the  thing     yj^-iuv- 

of  courage 
As  roused  with  rage  with  rage  doth  sympathize, 
And  with  an  accent  tuned  in  selfsame  key 
Retorts  to  chiding  fortune. 

Ulyss.  Agamemnon, 

33.  reproof,  buffeting.  swiftest  ship  in  the  world.      The 

39.    Thetis,  a  sea-nymph,  put  two  moist  elements  are  sea  and 

for  the  sea  (perhaps  by  a  con-  air. 

fusion  with    Tethys,  the  wife  of  45.   made  a  toast.     Toast  was 

Oceanus).  commonly  soaked  in    liquor  or 

42.    Perseus'  horse,    Pegasus,  butter,  as  the  boat  in  sea  water. 

created    according      to     Greek  Cf.  v.  113. 

legend  from    the    blood    of  the  48.   breese,  gadfly. 

Gorgon   Medusa   slain  by  him.  51.  fled,    have  fled.     Capell 

In    the    Destruction    of   Troy,  read  flee. 

Pegasus  is  described  as  speeding  54.   Retorts,   Dyce's  emenda- 

over    the   sea  like   a   bird,  the  tion  for  Q  and  Ff  retyres. 

VOL.  Ill  385  2  C 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

Thou  great  commander,  nerve  and  bone  of  Greece, 

Heart  of  our  numbers,  soul  and  only  spirit. 

In  whom  the  tempers  and  the  minds  of  all 

Should  be  shut  up,  hear  what  Ulysses  speaks. 

Besides  the  applause  and  approbation 

The   which,    [To  Agamemnon]    most    mighty    for 

thy  place  and  sway,  60 

[To  Nestor\     And    thou   most    reverend   for  thy 

stretch'd-out  life 
I  give  to  both  your  speeches,  which  were  such 
As  Agamemnon  and  the  hand  of  Greece 
Should  hold  up  high  in  brass,  and  such  again  s 

As  venerable  Nestor,  hatch'd  in  silver,  ;.o^iAe>A 

Should  with  a  bond  of  air,  strong  as  the  axletree 
On  which  heaven  rides,  knit  all  the  Greekish  ears 
To  his  experienced  tongue,  yet  let  it  please  both. 
Thou  great,  and  wise,  to  hear  Ulysses  speak. 
Agam.   Speak,  Prince  of  Ithaca ;    and  be 't  of 

less  expect  70 

That  matter  needless,  of  importless  burden, 
Divide  thy  lips,  than  we  are  confident. 
When  rank  Thersites  opes  his  mastic  jaws, 
We  shall  hear  music,  wit  and  oracle. 

Ufyss.  Troy,  yet  upon  his  basis,  had  been  down, 
And  the  great  Hector's  sword  had  lack'd  a  master, 

65.  hatch'd  in  silver,  silver-  speaker's  tongue  with  the  ears 
haired,  from  the  analogy  of  the  of  his  audience, 
fine  parallel  lines  hatched,  as  a  70-74-  Agammenon's  speech 
ground  or  ornament  in  metal  is  omitted  in  Q. 
engraving.  But  the  phrase  also  73.  mastic  (Ff  masticke), 
conveys  the  suggestion  that  vituperative.  The  epithet  is  in- 
Nestor's  speech  like  Agamem-  teresting  as  possibly  containing 
non's  is  worthy  to  be  engraved  a  reference  to  the  Histriomastix. 
and  '  held  up  high  '  in  the  «7w/-  See  Introduction.  The  Greek 
appropriate  to  his  white  hairs.  fj.d(TTi^  was  the  ultimate  source  of 
The  following  lines  introduce  a  a  word  ;  but  Shakespeare  had 
conflicting  image.  Eloquence  probably  met  with  the  Latin  de- 
was  often  symbolised  in  sculp-  rivative  mastigia,  '  scourge,"  in 
ture  by  chains   connecting   the  Plautus. 

386 


SC.  Ill 


Troilus  and  Cressidj 


But  for  these  instances. 

The  specialty  of  rule  hath  been  neglected  : 

And,  look,  how  many  Grecian  tents  do  stand 

Hollow  upon  this  plain,  so  many  hollow  factions.      Se 

When  that  the  general  is  not  like  the  hive 

To  whom  the  foragers  shall  all  repair. 

What  honey  is  expected  ?     Degree  being  vizarded, 

The  unworthiest  shows  as  fairly  in  the  mask. 

The   heavens    themselves,    the   planets   and    this 

centre 
Observe  degree,  priority  and  place, 
Insisture,  course,  proportion,  season,  form, 
Office  and  custom,  in  all  line  of  order; 
And  therefore  is  the  glorious  planet  Sol 
In  noble  eminence  enthroned  and  sphered  90 

Amidst  the  other ;  whose  medicinable  eye 
Corrects  the  ill  aspects  of  planets  evil, 
And  posts,  like  the  commandment  of  a  king, 
Sans    check    to    good    and    bad :    but  when   the 

planets 
In  evil  mixture  to  disorder  wander, 
W'hat  plagues  and  what  portents  !  what  mutiny  ! 
WHiat  raging  of  the  sea  !  shaking  of  earth  ! 
Commotion  in  the  winds!  frights,  changes,  horrors, 
Divert  and  crack,  rend  and  deracinate 
The  unity  and  married  calm  of  states  100 

Quite    from    their    fixure !       O,    when    degree    is 

shaked. 
Which  is  the  ladder  to  all  high  designs, 

•j-j.   these  instances,  the  foUovf-      Ptolemaic  system,  revolved).  Cf. 
ing  reasons.  v.  67. 


87.   Insisture,  uniform  move- 
ment. 

91.    medicinable,  healing. 
85.    this  centre,  the  earth  (the  92.    aspects,  influences. 


78.   specialty,  essential  quality 
or  condition. 


central   body   round   which  the  101.   their,  i.e.  the  states, 

planets  and  the  heavens,  on  the  ib,    Jixure,  fixity. 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

Then  enterprise  is  sick  !     How  could  communities, 

Degrees  in  schools  and  brotherhoods  in  cities,  , 

Peaceful  commerce  from  dividable  shores,  ^.j^-^'^Ji^. 

The  primogenitive  and  due  of  birth, 

Prerogative  of  age,  crowns,  sceptres,  laurels, 

But  by  degree,  stand  in  authentic  place? 

Take  but  degree  away,  untune  that  string. 

And,  hark,  what  discord  follows  !  each  thing  meets  no 

In  mere  oppugnancy  :  the  bounded  waters 

Should  lift  their  bosoms  higher  than  the  shores 

And  make  a  sop  of  all  this  solid  globe  : 

Strength  should  be  lord  of  imbecility. 

And  the  rude  son  should  strike  his  father  dead : 

Force  siiould  be  right ;  or  rather,  right  and  wrong, 

Between  whose  endless  jar  justice  resides, 

Should  lose  their  names,  and  so  should  justice  too. 

Then  every  thing  includes  itself  in  power, 

Power  into  will,  will  into  appetite ;  xzo 

And  appetite,  an  universal  wolf. 

So  doubly  seconded  with  will  and  power, 

Must  make  perforce  an  universal  prey, 

And  last  eat  up  himself.     Great  Agamemnon, 

This  chaos,  when  degree  is  suffocate, 

Follows  the  choking. 

And  this  neglection  of  degree  it  is 

That  by  a  pace  goes  backward,  with  a  purpose 

It  hath  to  climb.     The  general 's  disdain'd 

By  him  one  step  below,  he  by  the  next,  130 


105.     dividable,    divided,   far  119.    includes  itself  in,  ierrm- 

apart.  nates  in,  converts  itself  into. 

T.o6.  primogenitive,    right    of  128.  by  a  pace  goes  backward, 

primogeniture.  goes  back  a  step,  i.e.  is  dis- 
played   towards    each    rank    by 

111.  mere  oppugnancy,  abso-  ^^^    ^^^j.    j^^nediately    below. 
lute  antagonism.  ^^^  ^^^  slighting   his   imme- 

112.  Should,   would.     So   in  diate  sup>erior  in  order  to  aggran- 
the  following  lines.  disc  himself. 

388 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

That  next  by  him  beneath  ;  so  every  step, 

Exampled  by  the  first  pace  that  is  sick 

Of  his  superior,  grows  to  an  envious  fever 

Of  pale  and  bloodless  emulation  : 

And  'tis  this  fever  that  keeps  Troy  on  foot, 

Not  her  own  sinews.     To  end  a  tale  of  length, 

Troy  in  our  weakness  stands,  not  in  her  strength. 

Nest.  Most  wisely  hath  Ulysses  here  discover'd 
The  fever  whereof  all  our  power  is  sick. 

Agam.    The    nature    of    the    sickness    found, 
Ulysses,  140 

What  is  the  remedy  ? 

Ulyss.  The  great  Achilles,  whom  opinion  crowns 
The  sinew  and  the  forehand  of  our  host, 
Having  his  ear  full  of  his  airy  fame. 
Grows  dainty  of  his  worth,  and  in  his  tent       -f^-^' 
Lies  mocking  our  designs  :  with  him  Patroclus 
Upon  a  lazy  bed  the  livelong  day 
Breaks  scurril  jests,  f'TJ-'^- 

And  with  ridiculous  and  awkward  action,     /  * 
Which,  slanderer,  he  imitation  calls,  150 

He  pageants  us.     Sometime,  great  Agamemnon, 
Thy  topless  deputation  he  puts  on, 
And,  like  a  strutting  player,  whose  conceit 
Lies  in  his  hamstring,  and  doth  think  it  rich 
To  hear  the  wooden  dialogue  and  sound 
'Twixt  his  stretch'd  footing  and  the  scaffoldage,  — 
Such  to-be-pitied  and  o'er-wrested  seeming 

132.    pace,    (transferred)    the      you  ;  he  assumes  the  airs  of  the 
member  of  a  particular  rank.  captain-general. 

138.   discover'd,  explained.  ^53-   conceU,  imagination. 

...      ,,.  .    .  „  I  "^6.   j/;-^fcA'(/,  strained,  exag- 

145.    dainty  of  hts  worth,  \d\Y  pgrated 
preoccupied.  ^Duffed  up,  with  his  ^^^^  '  ,,^_^,iaage,    the    wood- 

'^'^'  -  ■  work  of  the  stage. 
151. /a^^^^/j.exhibits, mimics.  157.  o'er-wrested,  Pope's  con- 

152.    Thy  topless   deputation,  jecture     for     QFj    ore  -  rested ; 

the  supreme  power  confided  to  Delius  conjectured  oer-jested. 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

He  acts  thy  greatness  in  :  and  when  he  speaks, 
'Tis   like   a    chime    a-mending;    with    terms    un- 

squared, 
Which,  from  the  tongue  of  roaring  Typhon  dropp'd,  i6o 
Would  seem  hyperboles.     At  this  fusty  stuff 
The  large  Achilles,  on  his  press'd  bed  lolling, 
From  his  deep  chest  laughs  out  a  loud  applause; 
Cries  '  Excellent !  'tis  Agamemnon  just. 
Now, play  me  Nestor;  liem,  and  stroke  thy  beard,    ^ 
As  he  being  drest  to  some  oration.'  ri^ 

That's  done,  as  near  as  the  extremest  ends    ~  "C.-^''^^ 
Of  parallels,  as  like  as  Vulcan  and  his  wife  : 
Yet  god  Achilles  still  cries  '  Excellent ! 
'Tis  Nestor  right.      Now  play  him  me,  Patroclus,     170 
Arming  to  answer  in  a  night  alarm.' 
And  then,  forsooth,  the  faint  defects  of  age 
Must  be  the  scene  of  mirth ;  to  cough  and  spit, 
And,  with  a  palsy-fumbling  on  his  gorget,   ,•     r^r". '  ■  *''^>** 
Shake  in  and  out  the  rivet :  and  at  this  sport 
Sir  Valour  dies  ;  cries  '  O,  enough,  Patroclus ; 
Or  give  me  ribs  of  steel !     I  shall  split  all 
In  pleasure  of  my  spleen.'     And  in  this  fashion, 
All  our  abilities,  gifts,  natures,  sh;!pes, 
Severals  and  generals  of  grace  exact,  180 

Achievements,  plots,  orders,  preventions. 
Excitements  to  the  field,  or  speech  for  truce. 
Success  or  loss,  what  is  or  is  not,  serves 
As  stuff  for  these  two  to  make  paradoxes. 

159.  unsquared,  random,  not  167.   as  near,   etc.,   i.e.   with 
fitted  to  the  matter.                             no  approximation  whatever. 

160.  Typhon      (also     called  174.  gorget,  throat-armour. 
Typhaus),    a    giant    associated  178.   spleen,   as  the  organ  of 
with  storm  and  fire,  and  especi-      laughter. 

ally  with  the  eruptions  of  Etna,  180.    Severals  and  generals, 

under  which  he  was  buried.  etc. ,    '  the    minutest    individual 

166.   being  drest,   having  ad-  and  general  e.xcellences. ' 
dressed  himself.  182.   Excitements,  calls. 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Nest  And  in  the  imitation  of  these  twain —  i 

Who,  as  Ulysses  says,  opinion  crowns  -^ 

With  an  imperial  voice — many  are  infect. 
Ajax  is  grown  self-will'd,  and  bears  his  head 
In  such  a  rein,  in  full  as  proud  a  place 
As  broad  Achilles  ;  keeps  his  tent  like  him  ;  190 

Makes  factious  feasts  ;  rails  on  our  state  of  war,   .^^,^  ,., 
Bold  as  an  oracle,  and  sets  Thersites, 
A  slave  whose  gall  coins  slanders  like  a  mint, 
To  match  us  in  comparisons  with  dirt. 
To  weaken  and  discredit  our  exposure. 
How  rank  soever  rounded  in  with  danger. 

Ulyss.  They  tax  our  policy,  and  call  it  cowardice, 
Count  wisdom  as  no  member  of  the  war. 
Forestall  prescience  and  esteem  no  act 
But  that  of  hand  :   the  still  and  mental  parts,  200 

That  do  contrive  how  many  hands  shall  strike, 
When  fitness  calls  them  on,  and  know  by  measure 
Of  their  observant  toil  the  enemies'  weight, — 
Why,  this  hath  not  a  finger's  dignity  : 
They  call  this  bed- work,  mappery,  closet-war ; 
So  that  the  ram  that  batters  down  the  wall. 
For  the  great  swing  and  rudeness  of  his  poise. 
They  place  before  his  hand  that  made  the  engine. 
Or  those  that  with  the  fineness  of  their  souls 
By  reason  guide  his  execution.  210 

Nest.   Let  this  be  granted,  and  Achilles'  horse 
Makes  many  Thetis'  sons.  \_A  tucket. 

Agmn.  What  trumpet  ?  look,  Menelaus. 

Mm.   From  Troy.  ^U-Uj:- 

189.  In  such  a  rein,  i.e.  so  195.  weaken  and  discredit  our 
high,  hke  a  spirited  horse  '  brid-  exposure,  wszkfin,  by  discrediting 
ling  up.'             "  us,  our  ability  to  resist  the  as- 

190.  broad,  puffed  with  pride.  saults  to  which  we  are  exposed. 

191.  state,  council  ;  state  is  196.  How  rank  soever,  how- 
of;en  a  collective  term  for  the  ever  immoderately,  to  whatever 
governing  power  of  a  polity.  degree. 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 


Enter  JEii-KAS:        C 


A- 


Again.  What  would  you  'fore  our  tent  ? 

^ne.  Is  this  great  Agamemnon's  tent,  I  pray 
you? 

Agam.   Even  this. 

^ne.  May  one,  that  is  a  herald  and  a  prince, 
Do  a  fair  message  to  his  kingly  ears  ? 

Again.   With  surety  stronger  than  Achilles'  arm   220 
'Fore  all  the  Greekish  heads,  which  with  one  voice 
Call  Agamemnon  head  and  general. 

yEiie.   Fair  leave  and  large  security.      How  may 
A  stranger  to  those  most  imperial  looks 
Know  them  from  eyes  of  other  mortals  ? 

Agam.  How ! 

^ne.   Ay ; 
I  ask,  that  I  might  waken  reverence. 
And  bid  the  cheek  be  ready  with  a  blush 
Modest  as  morning  when  she  coldly  eyes 
The  youthful  Phoebus  :  239 

Which  is  that  god  in  ofifice,  guiding  men  ? 
Which  is  the  high  and  mighty  Agamemnon  ? 

Again.   This  Trojan  scorns  us ;  or  the  men  of 
Troy 
Are  ceremonious  courtiers. 

.^ne.   Courtiers  as  free,  as  debonair,  unarm'd, 
As  bending  angels  ;  that 's  their  fame  in  peace  : 
But  when    they  would   seem   soldiers,   they  have 

galls. 
Good  arms,  strong  joints,  true  swords ;  and,  Jove's 

accord, 
Nothing  so  full  of  heart.      But  peace,  /Eneas, 
Peace,  Trojan  ;  lay  thy  finger  on  thy  lips  !  240 

The  worthiness  of  praise  distains  his  worth 

238.  Jove's  accord,  nothing  so      their  side,  they  are  of  unmatched 
full  of  heart,    having  Jove  on      valour. 


sc.  in  Troilus  and  Cressida  M 

If  that  the  praised  himself  bring  the  praise  forth  : 
But  what  the  repining  enemy  commends, 
That  breath  fame   blows ;    that  praise,  sole  pure, 
transcends. 

Agat?i.     Sir,    you    of    Troy,    call    you    yourself 
^neas  ? 

Atne.  Ay,  Greek,  that  is  my  name, 

Agani.  What 's  your  affair,  I  pray  you  ? 

^ne.  Sir,  pardon  ;  'tis  for  Agamemnon's  ears. 

Agam.    He  hears  nought  privately  that  comes 
from  Troy. 

^ne.    Nor  I  from  Troy  come  not  to  whisper 
him :  250 

I  bring  a  trumpet  to  awake  his  ear, 
To  set  his  sense  on  the  attentive  bent, 
And  then  to  speak. 

Agam.  Speak  frankly  as  the  wind ; 

It  is  not  Agamemnon's  sleeping  hour : 
That  thou  shalt  know,  Trojan,  he  is  awake, 
He  tells  thee  so  himself. 

^ne.  Trumpet,  blow  loud. 

Send  thy  brass  voice  through  all  these  lazy  tents ; 
And  every  Greek  of  mettle,  let  him  know. 
What  Troy  means  fairly  shall  be  spoke  aloud. 

\Tru77ipet  sounds. 
We  have,  great  Agamemnon,  here  in  Troy  260 

A  prince  call'd  Hector, — Priam  is  his  father, — 
W'ho  in  this  dull  and  long-continued  truce 
Is  rusty  grown  :  he  bade  me  take  a  trumpet. 
And  to  this  purpose  speak.      Kings,  princes,  lords  ! 
If  there  be  one  among  the  fair'st  of  Greece 
That  holds  his  honour  higher  than  his  ease. 
That  seeks  h'is  praise  more  than  he  fears  his  peril. 
That  knows  his  valour,  and  knows  not  his  fear. 
That  loves  his  mistress  more  than  in  confession, 
243.  repining,   i.e.  mortified  by  defeat. 
393 


V 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

With  truant  vows  to  her  own  Hps  he  loves,  270 

And  dare  avow  her  beauty  and  her  worth 

In  other  arms  than  hers, — to  him  this  challenge. 

Hector,  in  view  of  Trojans  and  of  Greeks, 

Shall  make  it  good,  or  do  his  best  to  do  it, 

He  hath  a  lady,  wiser,  fairer,  truer. 

Than  ever  Greek  did  compass  in  his  arms, 

And  will  to-morrow  with  his  trumpet  call 

Midway  between  your  tents  and  walls  of  Troy, 

To  rouse  a  Grecian  that  is  true  in  love  : 

If  any  come,  Hector  shall  honour  him  ;  280 

If  none,  he  '11  say  in  Troy  when  he  retires, 

The  Grecian  dames  are  sunburnt  and  not  worth 

The  splinter  of  a  lance.     Even  so  mucli. 

Agam.     This   shall   be   told    our    lovers,    Lord 
yEneas  ; 
If  none  of  them  have  soul  in  such  a  kind. 
We  left  them  all  at  home  :  but  we  are  soldiers ; 
And  may  that  soldier  a  mere  recreant  prove, 
That  means  not,  hath  not,  or  is  not  in  love  ! 
If  then  one  is,  or  hath,  or  means  to  be, 
That  one  meets  Hector ;  if  none  else,  I  am  he.       290 

Nesf.   Tell  him  of  Nestor,  one  that  was  a  man 
When  Hector's  grandsire  suck'd  :  he  is  old  now ; 
But  if  there  be  not  in  our  Grecian  host 
One  noble  man  that  hath  one  spark  of  fire, 
To  answer  for  his  love,  tell  him  from  me 
I  '11  hide  my  silver  beard  in  a  gold  beaver 
And  in  my  vantbrace  put  this  wither'd  brawn, 
And  meeting  him  will  tell  him  that  my  lady 
Was  fairer  than  his  grandam  and  as  chaste 
As  may  be  in  the  world  :  his  youth  in  flood,  300 

I  '11  prove  this  truth  with  my  three  drops  of  blood. 

^ne.  Now  heavens  forbid  such  scarcity  of  youth! 

288.     means   not,     hath    not,  297.   vantbrace,    armour   for 

means  not  to  be,  hath  not  been.      the  arm,  arm-plate. 

394 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Ulyss.  Amen. 

Again.    Fair  Lord  ^neas,  let  me  touch  3'our 
hand  ; 
To  our  pavilion  shall  I  lead  you,  sir. 
Achilles  shall  have  word  of  this  intent ; 
So  shall  each  lord  of  Greece,  from  tent  to  tent : 
Yourself  shall  feast  with  us  before  you  go 
And  find  the  welcome  of  a  noble  foe. 

\^xeunt  all  but  Ulysses  and  Nestor. 

Ulyss.   Nestor  !  3m 

Nest.   What  says  Ulysses  ? 

Ulyss.   I  have  a  young  conception  in  my  brain ; 
Be  you  my  time  to  bring  it  to  some  shape. 

Nest.   What  is  't  ?  ■ 

Ulyss.  This  'tis : 
Blunt  wedges  rive  hard  knots  :  the  seeded  pride 
That  hath  to  this  maturity  blown  up 
In  rank  Achilles  must  or  now  be  cropp'd,  je^^tk^- 
Or,  shedding,  breed  a  nursery  of  like  evil, 
To  overbulk  us  all. 

Nest.  Well,  and  how  ?  320 

Ulyss.   This  challenge  that  the  gallant  Hector 
sends. 
However  it  is  spread  in  general  name. 
Relates  in  purpose  only  to  Achilles. 

Nest.  The  purpose  is  perspicuous  even  as  sub- 
stance, 
'  Whose  grossness  little  characters  sum  up : 
And,  in  the  publication,  make  no  strain, 

313.  Be  youmy  time,\.&.  -^X-x-j  pressed    by    the   single    implicit 

the  part   of  time  in  bringing  it  challenge  to  Achilles. 

to  mature  form.  .      ,         .... 

325.  Whose  grossness,  etc. ,  i.  e.  ^  326.    in  the  puMtcaUon   when 

just  as  the  bulk  of  a  large  mass  ^\^.  ^^lallenge   is   publicly    pro- 

can  be  expressed  in  a  few  little  claimed. 

figures,   so   the  meaning  of  the  326.   make  no  strain,  do  not 

large  undefined  challenge  is  ex-  question. 

395 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  i 

But  that  Achilles,  were  his  brain  as  barren 
As  banks  of  Libya, — though,  Apollo  knows, 
'Tis  dry  enough, — will,  with  great  speed  of  judge- 
ment. 
Ay,  with  celerity,  find  Hector's  purpose  330 

Pointing  on  him. 

Ulyss.  And    wake    him    to    the   answer,   think 

you? 
Nest.  Yes,    'tis    most    meet :    whom    may    you 
else  oppose, 
That  can  from  Hector  bring  his  honour  off. 
If  not  Achilles  ?     Though  't  be  a  sportful  combat, 
Yet  in  the  trial  much  opinion  dwells ;        '        •  , 
For  here  the  Trojans  taste  our  dear'st  repute  tt-Av^ 
With  their  finest  palate  :  and  trust  to  me,  Ulysses, 
Our  imputation  shall  be  oddly  poised 
In  this  wild  action  ;  for  the  success,  340 

Although  particular,  shall  give  a  scantling 
Of  good  or  bad  unto  the  general ;  C^T^^-yK^*^; 
And  in  such  indexes,  although  small  pricks 
To  their  subsequent  volumes,  there  is  seen 
The  baby  figure  of  the  giant  mass 
Of  things  to  come  at  large.     It  is  supposed 
He  that  meets  Hector  issues  from  our  choice : 
And  choice,  being  mutual  act  of  all  our  souls, 
Makes  merit  her  election,  and  doth  boil, 
As  'twere  from  forth  us  all,  a  man  distill'd  350 

Out  of  our  virtues  ;  who  miscarrying, 

332.  wa,i*  ,^m,  bestir  himself.  340.     ivild,   irregular,    extra- 

336.  opinion,  renown.  ordinary. 

337.  dear'st,    highest,     most  340.   success,  issue, 
precious.  341.    paiiicular,  individual. 

338.  finest  (monosyllabic,  i.e.  ib.  sca?itHng,  small  measure. 
fine'st).                                                      342.  general,  the  whole  com- 

339.  Our  reputation  will  weigh      munity. 

unevenly  in  the  fight,    i.e.   will  343.  pricks,  points. 

not  be  unaffected  by  the  triumph  349.   her  election,   the   object 

or  failure  of  our  champion.  of  choice. 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

What  heart  receives  from  hence  the  conquering 

part, 
To  steel  a  strong  opinion  to  themselves  ? 
Which  entertain'd,  limbs  are  his  instruments, 
In  no  less  working  than  are  swords  and  bows 
Directive  by  the  limbs. 

Ulyss.   Give  pardon  to  my  speech  : 
Therefore  'tis  meet  Achilles  meet  not  Hector, 
Let  us,  like  merchants,  show  our  foulest  wares, 
And  think,  perchance,  they  '11  sell ;  if  not,  360 

The  lustre  of  the  better  yet  to  show, 
Shall  show  the  better.      Do  not  consent 
That  ever  Hector  and  Achilles  meet ; 
For  both  our  honour  and  our  shame  in  this 
Are  dogg'd  with  two  strange  followers. 

Nest.   I  see  them  not  with  my  old  eyes  :  what 

are  they  ? 
Ulyss.  What    glory    our    Achilles    shares    from 

Hector, 
Were  he  not  proud,  we  all  should  share  with  him : 
But  he  already  is  too  insolent ; 

And  we  v/ere  better  parch  in  Afric  sun  370 

Than  in  the  pride  and  salt  scorn  of  his  eyes. 
Should  he  'scape  Hector  fair  :  if  he  were  foil'd, 
Why  then,  we  did  our  main  opinion  crush 
In  taint  of  our  best  man.      No,  make  a  lottery ; 
And,  by  device,  let  blockish  Ajax  draw 
The  sort  to  fight  v.ith  Hector  :  among  ourselves 
Give  him  allowance  for  the  better  man  ; 
For  that  will  physic  the  great  Myrmidon 
Who  broils  in  loud  applause,  and  make  him  fall 

354.     Which  entertain  d,  the  The  lustre  of  the  better  shall  exceed 

Strong  self-confidence  once  be-  ^V  showing  the  worse  first. 

gotten.  377.    Give  him  allowance  for, 

356.   Directive,  directed.  declare  him  to  be. 

361.  yet    to   show,    yet  to  be  379.  broils  in,  is  \VTOUght  into 

shown.      Q  reads  here  :  a  fever  of  conceit  by. 

397 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  n 

His  crest  that  prouder  than  blue  Iris  bends.  380 

If  the  dull  brainless  Ajax  come  safe  off, 

We  '11  dress  him  up  in  voices  :  if  he  fail, 

Yet  go  we  under  our  opinion  still 

That  we  have  better  men.      But,  hit  or  miss, 

Our  project's  life  this  shape  of  sense  assumes  : 

Ajax  employ'd  plucks  down  Achilles'  plumes. 

Nest.   Ulysses, 
Now  I  begin  to  relish  thy  advice ; 
And  I  will  give  a  taste  of  it  forthwith 
To  Agamemnon  :  go  we  to  him  straight.  390 

Two  curs  shall  tame  each  other  :  pride  alone 
Must  tarre  the  mastiffs  on,  as  'twere  their  bone. 

\Exeunt. 


ACT  II 

Scene  I.     A  part  of  the  Grecian  camp. 

Enter  Ajax  a7id  Thersites. 

Ajax.  Thersites  ! 

TJur.  Agamemnon,  how  if  he  had  boils  ?  full, 
all  over,  generally  ? 

Ajax.   Thersites  ! 

Ther.  And  those  boils  did  run  ?  say  so  :  did 
not  the  general  run  then  ?  were  not  that  a  botchy 
core  ? 

Ajax.   Dog  ! 

Ther.  Then  would  come  some  matter  from 
him  ;  I  see  none  now.  (  ji^-<^) 

2.   hoils,  Q.      Ff  biles,  the  in-      confusion  with  the  verb. 
variable    form    in  Shakespeare.  7.   core,  ulcer. 

The    modern    form    is    due    to 


sc.  I  Troilus  and  Cressida 

AJax.  Thou  bitch -wolfs  son,  canst  thou  not 
hear  ?     \Beati71g  him'\  Feel,  then. 

Ther.  The  plague  of  Greece  upon  thee,   thou  pl^-^' 
mongrel  beef-witted  lord ! 

Ajax.  Speak  then,  thou  vinewedst  leaven, 
speak  :  I  will  beat  thee  into  handsomeness. 

T]icr.  I   shall    sooner    rail    thee    into   wit    and 
holiness :   but,  I  think,  thy  horse  will  sooner  con 
an  oration  than  thou  learn  a  i)rayer  without  book. 
Thou  canst  strike,  canst  thou  ?  a  red  murrain  o'    20 
thy  jade's  tricks  ! 

Ajax.  Toadstool,  learn  me  the  proclamation. 

Ther.  Dost  thou  think  I  have  no  sense,  thou 
strikest  me  thus  ? 

Ajax.   The  proclamation  ! 

Ther.   Thou  art  proclaimed  a  fool,  I  think. 

Ajax.  Do  not,  porpentine,  do  not :  my  fingers 
itch. 

Ther.   I  would   thou  didst   itch   from   head   to 
foot  and  I  had  the  scratching  of  thee ;  I  would    30 
make  thee  the  loathsomest  scab  in  Greece.      When 
thou  art  forth  in  the  incursions,  thou  strikest  as 
slow  as  another. 

Ajax.   I  say,  the  proclamation  ! 

Ther.  Thou  grumblest  and  railest  every  hour 
on  Achilles,  and  thou  art  as  full  of  envy  at  his 
greatness  as  Cerberus  is  at  Proserpina's  beauty, 
ay,  that  thou  barkest  at  him. 

Ajax.  Mistress  Thersites ! 

Ther.  Thou  shouldst  strike  him.  40 

1 3.  plague  of  Greece,  perhaps      buted  the  dechne  of  his  wit  to 
the   plague    sent  by  Apollo  on      excessive  eating  of  beef. 

the      Greek  'forces     (Johnson).  vinewedst,       mouldiest. 

This  was  known  to  Shakespeare  j^hnson  and  Knight's  emenda- 

from //.  I  Woiiior Q,  un salted,  Ylwhinid' St. 

14.  beef-witted,    gross,    dull. 

Sir    Andrew    Aguecheek    attri-  27.  porfentine,  porcupine. 

399 


ii>- 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  u 

A/ax.  Cobloaf !     lk,  , >.  t^' 

TAer.  He  would  pun  thee  into  shivers  with  his 
fist,  as  a  sailor  breaks  a  biscuit. 

Aj'ax.   [Beating  hit}{\  You  whoreson  cur  ! 

Ther.   Do,  do. 

Ajax.   Thou  stool  for  a  witch  ! 

Ther.  Ay,  do,  do;  thou  sodden-witted  lord! 
thou  hast  no  more  brain  than  I  have  in  mine 
elbows ;  an  asinico  may  tutor  thee :  thou  scurvy- 
valiant  ass  !  thou  art  here  but  to  thrash  Trojans ;  50 
and  thou  art  bought  and  sold  among  those  of  any 
wit,  like  a  barbarian  slave.  If  thou  use  to  beat 
me,  I  will  begin  at  thy  heel,  and  tell  what  thou 
art  by  inches,  thou  thing  of  no  bowels,  thou  1 

Ajax.   You  dog ! 

Ther.   You  scurvy  lord  ! 

Ajax.   \_B eating  hin{\  You  cur  ! 

Ther.   Mars  his  idiot !  do,  rudeness ;  do,  camel ; 

Enter  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Achil.     Why,    how    now,    Ajax !    wherefore    do    60 
you    thus  ?     How    now,    Thersites !    what 's    the 
matter,  man  ? 

Ther.   You  see  him  there,  do  you  ? 

Achil.  Ay  ;  what 's  the  matter  ? 

Ther.   Nay,  look  upon  him. 

Achil.   So  I  do  :  what 's  the  matter  ? 

Ther.   Nay,  but  regard  him  well. 

Achil.   '  Well  ! '  why,  I  do  so. 

Ther.   But  yet  you  look  not  well  upon  him  ;  for, 
whosoever  you  take  him  to  be,  he  is  Ajax.  70 

41.  Cohloaf,  a  crusty  uneven      The  modern  word  is  the  quasi- 
loaf  with  a  round  head.  Spanish  assinego,    which    many 

42.  pun,  pound.  modern  editors  substitute. 
49.   asinico,    dolt,     '  donkey.'  58.   Mars  his,  Mars's. 

400 


SC.  I 


Trollus  and  Cressida 


Achil.  I  know  that,  fool. 

Ther.  Ay,  but  that  fool  knows  not  himself. 
Ajax.  Therefore  I  beat  thee. 

Ther.  Lo,  lo,  lo,  lo,  what  modicums  of  wit  he 
utters  !  his  evasions  have  ears  thus  long.  I  have 
bobbed  his  brain  more  than  he  has  beat  my  bones  : 
I  will  buy  nine  sparrows  for  a  penny,  and  his  pia 
mater  is  not  worth  the  ninth  part  of  a  sparrow. 
This  lord,  Achilles,  Ajax,  who  wears  his  wit  in  his 
belly  and  his  guts  in  his  head,  I  'U  tell  you  what  I  80 
say  of  him. 

Achil.  What? 

Ther.   I  say,  this  Ajax — 

\A.jax  offers  to  beat  him. 

Achil.   Nay,  good  Ajax. 

Ther.   Has  not  so  much  wit — 

Achil.   Nay,  I  must  hold  you, 

Ther.  As  will  stop  the  eye  of  Helen's  needle, 
for  whom  he  comes  to  fight. 

Achil.    Peace,  fool ! 

Ther.  I  would  have  peace  and  quietness,  but    90 
the  fool  will  not :   he  there :   that   he  :   look  you 
there. 

Ajax.   O  thou  damned  cur  !  I  shall — 

Achil.   Will  you  set  your  wit  to  a  fool's  ? 

Ther.  No,    I    warrant    you ;    for    a    fool's    will 
shame  it. 

Pair.   Good  words,  Thersites. 

Achil.  What 's  the  quarrel  ? 

Ajax.   I   bade   the   vile  owl   go   learn   me   the 
tenour  of  the  proclamation,  and  he  rails  upon  me.   100 

Ther.  I  serve  thee  not.  (^ 

Ajax.   Well,  go  to,  go  to.  '■'*^-^  «_.. 

Ther.   I  serve  here  voluntary. 

Achil.   Your   last   service   was   sufferance,   'twas 

77.  pia  mater,  brain  (properly  the  membrane  enclosing  it). 
VOL.  Ill  401  2  D 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  n 

not  voluntary  :  no  man  is  beaten  voluntary  :  Ajax 
was  here  the  voluntary,  and  you  as  under  an 
impress. 

Ther.   E'en  so ;  a  great  deal  of  your  wit,  too, 
lies  in  your  sinews,  or  else  there  be  liars.      Hector 
shall  have  a  great  catch,  if  he  knock  out  either  no 
of  your  brains  :  a'  were  as  good  crack  a  fusty  nut 
with  no  kernel. 

Achil.   What,  with  me  too,  Thersites  ? 
Ther.   There 's  Ulysses  and  old  Nestor,  whose 
wit  v/as  mouldy  ere  your  grandsires  had  nails  on 
their  toes,  yoke  you  like  draught-oxen  and  make 
you  plough  up  the  wars. 
Achil.   What,  what? 

Ther.  Yes,     good     sooth :     to,     Achilles !     to, 
Ajax  !  to  !  "o 

Ajax.  I  shall  cut  out  your  tongue. 
Ther.   'Tis  no  matter;   I  shall  speak  as  much 
as  thou  afterwards. 

Patr.   No  more  words,  Thersites  ;  peace  ! 
Ther.   I    will    hold    my    peace    when    Achilles' 
brach  bids  me,  shall  I  ?  ^f  »*. 

Achil.   There  's  for  you,  Patroclus. 
Ther.   I    will    see   you    hanged,    like   clotpoles, 
ere  I  come  any  more  to  your  tents  :  I  will  keep 
where  there  is  wit  stirring  and  leave  the  faction  130 
of  fools.  {Exit. 

Patr.   A  good  riddance. 

Achil.   Marry,   this,    sir,   is   proclaim'd    through 
all  our  host : 
That  Hector,  by  the  fifth  hour  of  the  sun, 
Will  with  a  trumpet  'twixt  our  tents  and  Troy 
To-morrow  morning  call  some  knight  to  arms 
That  lr:th  a  stomach;  and  such  a  one  that  dare 
Maintain — I  know  not  what :  'tis  trash.     FarewelL 
126.  brach,  female  hound,  Q.     Yl  brooch. 
402 


sc.  II  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Ajax.  Farewell.     Who  shall  answer  him  ? 

Achil.  I   know  not :  'tis  put  to  lottery ;  other- 
wise 140 
He  knew  his  man. 

Ajax.   O,  meaning  you.     I  will  go  learn  more 
of  it.  \_Exeutit. 


Scene  II.    '  Troy.     A  room  in  PriairHs  palace. 

Enter  Priam,  Hector,  Troilus,  Paris,  and 
Helenus. 

Fri.   After  so  many  hours,  lives,  speeches  spent, 
Thus  once  again  says  Nestor  from  the  Greeks : 
'  Deliver  Helen,  and  all  damage  else — 
As  honour,  loss  of  time,  travail,  expense. 
Wounds,  friends,  and  what  else  dear  that  is  con- 
sumed 
In  hot  digestion  of  this  cormorant  war — 
Shall  be  struck  off.'     Hector,  what  say  you  to  't  ? 

Hect.   Though  no  man  lesser  fears  the  Greeks 
than  I 
As  far  as  toucheth  my  particular, 
Yet,  dread  Priam, 

There  is  no  lady  of  more  softer  bowels, 
More  spongy  to  suck  in  the  sense  of  fear. 
More  ready  to  cry  out  'Who  knows  what  follows?' 
Than  Hector  is  :  the  wound  of  peace  is  surety. 
Surety  secure  ;  but  modest  doubt  is  call'd 
The  beacon  of  the  wise,  the  tent  that  searches 
To  the  bottom  of  the  worst.     Let  Helen  go  : 
Since  the  Jirst  sword  was  drawn  about  this  question, 
Every  tithe  soul,  'mongst  many  thousand  dismes, 

14.   surety,  false  confidence.  wound. 

16.   tent,   surgical  probe,   the  19.   tithe,  tenth, 

roll  of  lir.t  inserted  into  a  deep  ib.  dismes,  tenths. 


403 


30 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  n 

Hath  been  as  dear  as  Helen  ;  I  mean,  of  ours  :        20 

If  we  have  lost  so  many  tenths  of  ours, 

To  guard  a  thing  not  ours  nor  worth  to  us, 

Had  it  our  name,  the  value  of  one  ten. 

What  merit 's  in  that  reason  which  denies 

The  yielding  of  her  up  ? 

Tro.  Fie,  fie,  my  brother  ! 

Weigh  you  the  worth  and  honour  of  a  king 
So  great  as  our  dread  father  in  a  scale 
Of  common  ounces  ?  will  you  with  counters  sum 
The  past  proportion  of  his  infinite?  ^  t  v-'^--  . 
And  buckle  in  a  waist  most  fathomless 
With  spans  and  inches  so  diminutive 
As  fears  and  reasons  ?  fie,  for  godly  shame  ! 

I/e/.  No  marvel,  though  you  bite  so  sharp  at 

reasons. 
You  are  so  empty  of  them.      Should  not  our  father 
Bear  the  great  sway  of  his  affairs  with  reasons. 
Because  your  speech  hath  none  that  tells  him  so? 
Tro.   You  are  for  dreams  and  slumbers,  brother 

priest ; 
You  fur  your  gloves  with  reason.     Here  are  your 

reasons : 
You  know  an  enemy  intends  you  harm ; 
You  know  a  sword  employ'd  is  perilous,  40 

And  reason  flies  the  object  of  all  harm  : 
Who  marvels  then,  when  Helenus  be])olds 
A  Grecian  and  his  sword,  if  he  do  set 
The  very  wings  of  reason  to  his  heels 
And  fly  like  chidden  Mercury  from  Jove, 
Or  like  a  star  disorb'd  ?     Nay,  if  we  talk  of  reason, 
Let 's  shut  our  gates  and  sleep :    manhood   and 

honour 

29.    The  past  proportion,  the      its  sphere,'/.^,  from  the  revolving 
'beyond  measure,'  immensity.         orbit  in  which,  according  to  the 
46.  disorb'd,    '  shooting  from      Ptolemaic  system,  it  v.as  fixed, 

404 


sc.  II  Troilus  and  Cresslda 

Should  have  hare-hearts,  would  they  but  fat  their 

thoughts 
With  this  cramm'd  reason  :  reason  and  respect 
]\lake  livers  pale  and  lustihood  deject.  50 

Hed.   Brother,  she  is  not  worth  what  she  doth 
cost 
The  holding. 

Tro.  What  is  aught,  but  as  'tis  valued  ? 

Hed.   But  value  dwells  not  in  particular  will; 
It  holds  his  estimate  and  dignity 
As  well  wherein  'tis  precious  of  itself 
As  in  the  prizer  :  'tis  mad  idolatry 
To  make  the  service  greater  than  the  god  ; 
And  the  will  dotes  that  is  attributive  ^xM-^^'Y^i 
To  what  infectiously  itself  affects, 
Without  some  image  of  the  affected  merit.  60 

Tro.   I  take  to-day  a  wife,  and  my  election 
Is  led  on  in  the  conduct  of  my  will ; 
My  will  enkindled  by  mine  eyes  and  ears, 
Two  traded  pilots  'twixt  the  dangerous  shores    >■■ 
Of  will  and  judgement :  how  may  I  avoid, 
Although  my  will  distaste  what  it  elected. 
The  wife  I  chose  ?  there  can  be  no  evasion 
To  blench  from  this  and  to  stand  firm  by  honour : 
We  turn  not  back  the  silks  upon  the  merchant, 
When   we   have   soil'd   them,    nor    the  remainder 

viands  1  70 

We  do  not  throw  in  unrespective  sieve, 
Because  we  now  are  full.      It  was  thought  meet 


'&^ 


49.    respect,  consideration.  or   receptacle    for   things    unre- 

58.  is  attributive,  attributes  garded  or  of  no  account.  The 
merit.  Ff  read  inclinable,  word_  ^er^alniost  a  contradic- 
which  is  easier  and  less  Shake-  ^'°"  j"  'f'"^  ^^  unrespecttve)  is 
spearean.  found  only  in  Q  ;    Fj  has  savie, 

.  '  Fo  place.      The  alleged   dialec- 

59.  Itself,  I.e.  the  will.  ^;-^l  ^^^  j^  ^^^^  doubtful.      The 

64.   traded,  professional.  most    plausible  modern   conjec- 

71.   unrespective  sieve,  voider  ture  is  Delius'  sink. 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  n 

Paris  should  do  some  vengeance  on  the  Greeks : 
Your  breath  of  full  consent  bellied  his  sails  ; 
The  seas  and  winds,  old  wranglers,  took  a  truce 
And  did  him  service  :  he  touch'd  the  ports  desired, 
And  for  an  old  aunt  whom  the  Greeks  held  captive, 
He  brought  a  Grecian  queen,   whose  youth  and 

freshness 
Wrinkles  Apollo's,  and  makes  stale  the  morning. 
Why  keep  we  her  ?  the  Grecians  keep  our  aunt :       So 
Is  she  worth  keeping  ?  why,  she  is  a  pearl, 
Whose  price  hath  launch'd  above  a  thousand  ships, 
And  turn'd  crown'd  kings  to  merchants. 
If  you  '11  avouch  'twas  wisdom  Paris  went — 
As  you  must  needs,  for  you  all  cried  'Go,  go,' — 
If  you  '11  confess  he  brought  home  noble  prize — 
As    you   must   needs,    for    you    all    clapp'd    your 

hands, 
And  cried  '  Inestimable  ! ' — why  do  you  now 
The  issue  of  your  proper  wisdoms  rate, 
And  do  a  deed  that  fortune  never  did,  90 

Beggar  the  estimation  which  you  prized 
Richer  than  sea  and  land  ?     O,  theft  most  base, 
That  we  have  stol'n  what  we  do  fear  to  keep ! 
But,  thieves,  unworthy  of  a  thing  so  stol'n. 
That  in  their  country  did  them  that  disgrace, 
We  fear  to  warrant  in  our  native  place  ! 

Cas.   [  Within\  Cry,  Trojans,  cry  ! 

Prt.  What  noise?  what  shriek  is  this? 

Tro.   'Tis  our  mad  sister,  I  do  know  her  voice. 

Cas.   [  JVif/iin]  Cry,  Trojans  ! 

Hecf.   It  is  Cassandra.  100 


77.     an    old    aunt,     Priam's  82.     A    reminiscence    of    the 

sister  Hesione,  married  to  Ajax's  famous  line  in  Marlowe's /•a«j/«j', 

father  Telamon.  '  Is  this  the  face  that  launched  a 

79.   stale.     So  Ff     The  Q  has  thousand  ships." 
the  less  Shakespearean  pale, 

406 


sc.  II  Troilus  and  Cresslda 

Enter  Cassandra,  raving. 

Cas.  Cry,  Trojans,  cry  !  lend  me  ten  thousand 
eves, 
And  I  will  fill  them  with  prophetic  tears. 

Hed.   Peace,  sister,  peace  ! 

Cas.  Virgins  and  boys,   mid-age   and   wrinkled 
eld. 
Soft  infancy,  that  nothing  canst  but  cry, 
Add  to  my  clamours  !  let  us  pay  betimes 
A  moiety  of  that  mass  of  moan  to  come. 
Cry,  Trojans,  cry  !  practise  your  eyes  with  tears  ! 
Troy  must  not  be,  nor  goodly  Ilion  stand ; 
Our  firebrand  brother,  Paris,  burns  us  all.  no 

Cry,  Trojans,  cry  !  a  Helen  and  a  woe : 
Cry,  cry !   Troy  burns,  or  else  let  Helen  go.  \Exit. 

Hed.   Now,  youthful  Troilus,  do  not  these  high 
strains 
Of  divination  in  our  sister  work 
Some  touches  of  remorse  ?  or  is  your  blood 
So  madly  hot  that  no  discourse  of  reason,        ■/  JiA,t' 
Nor  fear  of  bad  success  in  a  bad  cause, 
Can  qualify  the  same  ? 

Tro.  Why,  brother  Hector, 

We  may  not  think  the  justness  of  each  art 
Such  and  no  other  than  event  doth  form  it,  12© 

Nor  once  deject  the  courage  of  our  minds. 
Because  Cassandra  's  mad  :  her  brain-sick  raptures 
Cannot  distaste  the  goodness  of  a  quarrel 
Which  hath  our  several  honours  all  engaged 

104.  gld.     This  reading  is  an  Hecuba,    before     Paris'    birth, 

inference  from    the    Q   and   Ff,  dreamt    that    ihe  would  be  de- 

which    have   respectively   elders  livered  of  a  burning  brand. 
ssidi  old.  116,  discourse  of  reason,  ^yuex- 

107.    moiety,  portion.  cise  of  reason  (in  argument). 

no.    Our  Jlrebrand  brother.  123.  distaste,  %'^o^. 

407 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  n 

To  make  it  gracious.      For  my  private  part, 
I  am  no  more  touch'd  than  all  Priam's  sons  : 
And  Jove  forbid  there  should  be  done  amongst  us 
Such  things  as  might  offend  the  weakest  sp'een 
To  fight  for  and  maintain  !       }y  f,i' 

Par.   Else  might  the  world  convince  of  levity       130 
As  well  my  undertakings  as  your  counsels  : 
But  I  attest  the  gods,  your  full  consent 
Gave  wings  to  my  propension  and  cut  off 
All  fears  attending  on  so  dire  a  project. 
For  what,  alas,  can  these  my  single  arms?  a 

What  propugnation  is  in  one  man's  valour,  -  '  '  ' 

To  stand  the  push  and  enmity  of  those 
This  quarrel  would  excite  ?     Yet,  I  protest, 
Were  I  alone  to  pass  the  difficulties 
And  had  as  ample  power  as  I  have  will,  140 

Paris  should  ne'er  retract  what  he  hath  done, 
Nor  faint  in  the  pursuit. 

Pri.  Paris,  you  speak 

Like  one  besotted  on  your  sweet  delights : 
You  have  the  honey  still,  but  these  the  gall; 
So  to  be  valiant  is  no  praise  at  all. 

Par.  Sir,  I  propose  not  merely  to  myself 
The  pleasures  such  a  beauty  brings  with  it ; 
But  I  would  have  the  soil  of  her  fair  rape 
Wiped  off,  in  honourable  keeping  her. 
J'^  What  treason  were  it  to  the  ransack'd  queen,  130 

Disgrace  to  your  great  worths  and  shame  to  me. 
Now  to  deliver  her  possession  up 
On  terms  of  base  compulsion  !     Can  it  be 
That  so  degenerate  a  strain  as  this 
Should  once  set  footing  in  your  generous  bosoms  ? 

125.    To  make  it  gracious,  to  136.  propugnation,   power  of 

put  a  good  complexion  on  it.  resistance. 

128.    weakest    spleen,    tamest  o 

■^  148.    rape,  seizure, 

spirit.  ' 

130.  convince,  convict,  150.  treason,  treachery, 

408 


SC.  11 


Troilus  and  Cresslda 


There 's  not  the  meanest  spirit  on  our  party 
Without  a  heart  to  dare  or  sword  to  draw 
When  Helen  is  defended,  nor  none  so  noble 
Whose  life  were  ill  bestow'd  or  death  un famed 
Where  Helen  is  the  subject ;  then,  I  say,  i6o 

Well  may  we  fight  for  her  whom,  we  know  well, 
The  world's  large  spaces  cannot  parallel. 

He:t.   Paris  and  Troilus,    you   have   both   said 
well. 
And  on  the  cause  and  question  now  in  hand 
Have  glozed,  but  superficially  :  not  much 
Unlike  young  men,  whom  Aristotle  thought 
Unfit  to  hear  moral  philosophy  : 
The  reasons  you  allege  do  more  conduce 
To  the  hot  passion  of  distempered  blood 
Than  to  make  up  a  free  determination  170 

'Twixt  right  and  wrong,  for  pleasure  and  revenge 
Have  ears  more  deaf  than  adders  to  the  voice 
Of  any  true  decision.     Nature  craves 
All  dues  be  render'd  to  their  owners  :  now, 
What  nearer  debt  in  all  humanity 
Than  wife  is  to  the  husband?     If  this  law 
Of  nature  be  corrupted  through  affection, 
And  that  great  minds,  of  partial  indulgence 
To  their  benumbed  wills,  resist  the  same, 
There  is  a  law  in  each  well-order'd  nation  180 

165.  glozed,   made    sounding  ment     of   Learning,    book    ii. 
speeches.  (pub.    1605),    makes    the  same 

166.  Aristotle  thought.  Rowe,  erroneous  statement  ;  '  Is  not 
against  all  the  principles  of  the  opinion  of  Aristotle  worthy 
textual  criticism,  substituted  to  be  regarded,  wherein  he  saith, 
graver  sages  think,  to  avoid  the  that  young  men  are  no  fit  audi- 
anachronism.  Aristotle's  pro-  tors  of  moral  philosophy  ? ' 
hibition    related   not    to    moral 

philosophy  but  to  politics  :    5t6  172.    more  deaf  than  adders. 

T^s  TToXtTtK^s    o\)K   IffTiv  otjceios  The  deafness  of  the  adder  was 

d/cpoaT7)s   6    y^os,   Nic.    Eth.    i.  proverbial    in    popular    natural 

3.  5  ;  but  Bacon  in  the  Advance-  history. 

409 


Troilus  and  Cresslda  act  n 

To  curb  those  raging  appetites  that  are 

Most  disobedient  and  refractory. 

If  Helen  then  be  wife  to  Sparta's  king, 

As  it  is  known  she  is,  tliese  moral  laws 

Of  nature  and  of  nations  speak  aloud 

To  have  her  back  return'd  :  thus  to  persist 

In  doing  wrong  extenuates  not  wrong, 

But  makes  it  much  more  heavy.      Hector's  opinion 

Is  this  in  way  of  truth ;  yet  ne'ertheless, 

My  spritely  brethren,  I  propend  to  you  190 

In  resolution  to  keep  Helen  still, 

For  'tis  a  cause  that  hath  no  mean  dependance 

Upon  our  joint  and  several  dignities. 

Tro.    Why,   there   you   touch'd   the  life  of  our 
design  : 
AVere  it  not  glory  that  we  more  affected 
Thau  the  performance  of  our  heaving  spleens, 
I  would  not  wish  a  drop  of  Trojan  blood 
Spent  more  in  her  defence.     But,  worthy  Hector, 
She  is  a  theme  of  honour  and  renown, 
A  spur  to  valiant  and  magnanimous  deeds,  200 

AVhose  present  courage  may  beat  down  our  foes, 
And  fame  in  time  to  come  canonize  us ; 
For,  I  presume,  brave  Hector  would  not  lose 
So  rich  advantage  of  a  promised  glory 
As  smiles  upon  the  forehead  of  this  action 
For  the  wide  world's  revenue. 
I—  Hect.  I  am  yours, 

You  valiant  offspring  of  great  Priamus.      a  yj      .jr.    ' 
I  have  a  roisting  challenge  sent  amongst  •  )f  .'-^>^^-t<^ 
Tlie  dull  and  factious  nobles  of  the  Greeks 
Will  strike  amazement  to  their  drowsy  spirits  :  aio 

I  was  advertised  their  great  general  slept, 

196.   the  performance  of  our     ^^aww^  is  aUributed  to  the  spleen 
heaving  spleens,  the  indulgence      on  the  analogy  of  the  heart. 
ef  our   anger.     The  quality  of  208.   roisting,  blustering. 

410 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Whilst  emulation  in  the  army  crept : 

This,  I  presume,  Avill  wake  him.  \Exeunt. 


Scene  III.      The  Grecian  camp.     Before 
Achilles'  tent. 

Enter  Thersites,  solus. 

Ther.  How  now,  Thersites  !  what,  lost  in  the 
labyrinth  of  thy  fury  !  Shall  the  elephant  Ajax 
carry  it  thus  ?  he  beats  me,  and  I  rail  at  him  : 
O,  worthy  satisfaction  !  would  it  were  otherwise ; 
that  I  could  beat  him,  whilst  he  railed  at  me, 
'Sfoot,  I  '11  learn  to  conjure  and  raise  devils,  but 
I  '11  see  some  issue  of  my  spiteful  execrations. 
Then  there 's  Achilles,  a  rare  enginer !  If  Troy 
be  not  taken  till  these  two  undermine  it,  the 
walls  will  stand  till  they  fall  of  themselves.  O  lo 
thou  great  thunder- darter  of  Olympus,  forget 
that  thou  art  Jove,  the  king  of  gods,  and, 
Mercury,  lose  all  the  serpentine  craft  of  thy 
caduceus,  if  ye  take  not  that  little  little  less  than  ^ 

.  little  wit  from  them  that  they  have  !   which  short- 
Ct-^armed    ignorance    itself    knows    is    so    abundant 

scarce,  it  will  not  in  circumvention  deliver  a  fly  -s, 

from  a  spider,  without  drawing  their  massy  irons 

and  cutting  the  web.      After  this,  the  vengeance 

on  the  whole  camp !    or  rather,    the   bone-ache !   20 

for  that,    methinks,    is   the    curse    dependant    on 

those  that   war   for  a  placket.      I    have   said  my    '- 

13.  serpentine  craft.  Mer-  with  Thersites,  and  therefore 
cury's  staff  or  caduceus  was  in  not  to  be  replaced  by  the  other- 
later  mythology  represented  as  wise  plausible  emendation  short- 
intertwined  with  serpents.  aimed. 

15.   short-armed,    i.e.    having  22.    a  placket,  a  woman  (pro- 

a    short    reach.      The    slightly  perly   a    portion  of  a  woman's 

grotesque  epithet  is  in  keeping  dress). 

411 


s 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  n 

prayers  and   devil   Envy   say   Amen.     What   ho ! 
my  Lord  Achilles ! 

Enter  Patroclus. 

Fatr.  Who 's  there  ?  Thersites  !  Good  Ther- 
sites,  come  in  and  rail. 

Ther.    If    I    could    have    remembered    a    gilt 
counterfeit,  thou  wouldst  not  have  slipped  out  of 
my  contemplation  :    but  it  is  no  matter ;    thyself 
upon  thyself!     The  common  curse   of  mankind,    30 
folly  and  ignorance,  be   thine  in   great   revenue  ! 
heaven   bless   thee   from   a   tutor,    and    discipline 
come  not  near  thee  !     Let  thy  blood  be  thy  direc- p-M'^^^^^ 
tion  till  thy  death  !  then  if  she  that  lays  thee  out* 
says   thou   art   a    fair    corse,    I  '11    be    sworn   and 
sworn  upon  't  she  never  shrouded  any  but  lazars.  .     .,     _^ 
Amen.     Where 's  Achilles  ?  '< 

Patr,  What,  art  thou  devout?  wast  thou  in 
prayer  ? 

Ther.  Ay  :  the  heavens  hear  me  !  40 

E titer  Achilles. 

Achil.     Who  's  there  ? 

Patr.   Thersites,  my  lord. 

Achil.  Where,  where  ?  Art  thou  come  ?  why, 
my  cheese,  my  digestion,  why  hast  thou  not 
served  thyself  in  to  my  table  so  many  meals  ? 
Come,  what 's  Agamemnon  ? 

Ther.  Thy  commander,  Achilles.  Then  tell 
me,  Patroclus,  what 's  Achilles  ? 

Patr.  Thy  lord,  Thersites :  then  tell  me,  I 
pray  thee,  what 's  thyself?  -  so 

Ther.  Thy  knower,  Patroclus :  then  tell  me, 
Patroclus,  what  art  thou  ? 

28.   slipped.     There  is  a  play  33.   thy  blood,  thy  passions, 

on  slip,    the  slang   term   for   a 
counterfeit  coin.  36.   lazars,  lepers. 

412 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Fair.  Thou  mayst  tell  that  knowest. 

Achil.  O,  tell,  tell. 

Ther.  I  '11  decline  the  whole  question.  Aga- 
memnon commands  Achilles ;  Achilles  is  my 
lord ;  I  am  Patroclus'  knower,  and  Patroclus 
is  a  fool. 

Pair.  You  rascal ! 

Ther.  Peace,  fool !     I  have  not  done.  60 

Achil.  He  is  a  privileged  man.  Proceed, 
Thersites. 

Ther.  Agamemnon  is  a  fool ;  Achilles  is  a  fool ; 
Thersites  is  a  fool,  and,  as  aforesaid,  Patroclus  is 
a  fool. 

Achil.   Derive  this;-  come. 

Tlier.  Agamemnon  is  a  fool  to  offer  to  com- 
mand Achilles ;  Achilles  is  a  fool  to  be  com- 
manded of  Agamemnon  ;  Thersites  is  a  fool  to 
serve  such  a  fool,  and  Patroclus  is  a  fool  positive.     70  "^AU 

Patr.   Why  am  I  a  fool  ? 

Ther.  Make  that  demand  of  the  prover.  It 
suffices  me  thou  art.  Look  you,  who  comes 
here? 

Achil.  Patroclus,  I  '11  speak  with  nobody. 
Come  in  with  me,  Thersites.  \Exit. 

Ther.    Here   is    such    patchery,    such    juggling  '  ^'f 

and  such  knavery  !  all  the  argument  is  a  cuckold  /J 

and  a  whore ;    a  good  quarrel   to  draw  emulous 
factions  and  bleed  to  death  upon.      Now,  the  dry    80 
serpigo    on    the    subject  !    and   war   and    lechery 
confound  all !  \Exit. 

55.   decline,  run  through  from  72.   of  the  f  rover.     So  Q,     Ff 

first  to  last.  read  '  to  the  Creator. ' 

66.    Derive,  deduce.  77.  patchery,  botching. 

70.  ■positive,  absolutely,  under  81.  serpigo,  a  dry  skin  erup- 

all  conditions,  not  in  respect  of  tion.      The  sentence  '  Now  .  .  . 

particular  actions.  confound  all '  is  omitted  in  Q. 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  h 


^  \<^. 


C^'s^^**  Enter  Agamemnon,  Ulysses,  Nestor, 

DiOMEDES,  and  Ajax. 

Agam.   Where  is  Achilles  ? 

Pair.    Within   his  tent ;    but   ill   disposed,  my 
lord. 

Agam.    Let   it  be  known  to   him   that  we  are 
here. 
He  shent  our  messengers  ;  and  we  lay  by 
Our  appertainments,  visiting  of  him  : 
Let  him  be  told  so  ;  lest  perchance  he  think 
We  dare  not  move  the  question  of  our  place, 
Or  know  not  what  we  are. 

Pair.  I  shall  say  so  to  him.      \Exit.    90 

Ulyss.  We  saw  him  at  the  opening  of  his  tent : 
He  is  not  sick. 

Ajax.  Yes,  lion -sick,  sick  of  proud  heart: 
you  may  call  it  melancholy,  if  you  will  favour 
the  man ;  but,  by  my  head,  'tis  pride  :  but  why, 
why  ?  let  him  show  us  the  cause.  A  word,  my 
lord.  \Takes  Agamemnori  aside. 

Nest   What  moves  Ajax  thus  to  bay  at  him  ? 

Ulyss.  Achilles  hath  inveigled  his  fool  from 
him.  100 

Nest   Who,  Thersites  ? 

Ulyss.   He. 

Nest.  Then  will  Ajax  lack  matter,  if  he  have 
lost  his  argument. 

Ulyss.  No,  you  see,  he  is  his  argument  that 
has  his  argument,  Achilles. 

Nest.    All   the    better ;    their   fraction   is   more 

86.  shent,     abused.       Theo-  104.     argument,     subject    of 
bald's    emendation    for  Q   sate,      discourse. 

87.  'appertainments,  preroga-  .^°7-    fraction,    breach,    dis- 


tives. 

414 


union. 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

our  wish  than  their  faction  :    but  it  was  a  strong 
composure  a  fool  could  disunite,    •i/'i/t^^' 

Ulyss.  The  amity  that  wisdom  knits  not,  folly  no 
may  easily  untie.      Here  comes  Patroclus. 

Re-enter  Patroclus. 

Nest.   No  Achilles  with  him. 

Ulyss.  The  elephant  hath  joints,  but  none 
for  courtesy  :  his  legs  are  legs  for  necessity,  not 
for  flexure. 

Patr.  Achilles  bids  me  say,  he  is  much  sorry. 
If  any  thing  more  than  your  sport  and  pleasure,^  |  '  / 

Did  move  your  greatness  and  this  noble  state      *-**'-'^-  '-*^*'-,'  ' 
To  call  upon  him ;  he  hopes  it  is  no  other 
But  for  your  health  and  your  digestion  sake,  120 

An  after-dinner's  breath. 

Agam.  Hear  you,  Patroclus  : 

We  are  too  well  acquainted  with  these  answers  : 
But  his  evasion,  wing'd  thus  swift  with  scorn, 
Cannot  outfly  our  apprehensions. 
jy^-  Much  attribute  he  hath,  and  much  the  reason 
»^'    Why  we  ascribe  it  to  him  ;  yet  all  his  virtues,   ,       ^ , 
Not  virtuously  on  his  own  part  beheld,    j  >i^^j^  '-^Z 
Do  in  our  eyes  begin  to  lose  their  gloss,  »•' 

Yea,  like  fair  fruit  in  an  unwholesome  dish, 
Are  like  to  rot  untasted.      Go  and  tell  him,  130 

We  come  to  speak  with  him  3  and  you  shall  not 

sin, 
If  you  do  say  we  think  him  over-proud 
And  under-honest,  in  self-assumption  greater 

ro().  composure,  hor\A.     So  Q.  118.   j/a/c,  retinue  of  chiefs. 

Fj   has  the    less  Shakespearean  125.     attribute,     natural    en- 

counsel.       '  dowment. 

113.  The  elephant  hath  joints,  127.  Not  virtuously  on  his  own 
but  none  for  courtesy.  It  was  part  beheld,  not  regarded  as  be- 
currently  believed  that  the  ele-  comes  a  virtuous  man,  i.e. 
phant  could  not  kneel.  modestly. 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  ir 

Than  in  the  note  of  judgement ;  and  worthier  than 

himself 
Here  tend  the  savage  strangeness  he  puts  on, 
Disguise  the  holy  strength  of  their  command. 
And  underwrite  in  an  observing  kind 
His  humorous  predominance ;  yea,  watch 
His  pettish  lunes,  his  ebbs,  his  flows,  as  if 
The  passage  and  whole  carriage  of  this  action  140 

Rode  on  his  tide.      Go  tell  him  this,  and  add. 
That  if  he  overhold  his  price  so  much, 
We  '11  none  of  him  ;  but  let  him,  like  an  engine 
Not  portable,  lie  under  this  report : 
'  Bring  action  hither,  this  cannot  go  to  war : 
A  stirring  dwarf  we  do  allowance  give 
Before  a  sleeping  giant.'     Tell  him  so. 

Fatr.  I  shall ;  and  bring  his  answer  presently. 

\_Exit. 

Agam.   In  second  voice  we  '11  not  be  satisfied  ; 
We  come  to  speak  with  him.     Ulysses,  enter  you.  150 

[Exit  Ulysses, 

Ajax.  What  is  he  more  than  another  ? 

Agam.   No  more  than  what  he  thinks  he  is. 

Ajax.  Is  he  so  much  ?  Do  you  not  think  he 
thinks  himself  a  better  man  than  I  am  ? 

Agam.   No  question. 

Ajax.  Will  you  subscribe  his  thought,  and  say 
he  is? 

Agam.  No,  noble  Ajax ;  you  are  as  strong, 
as  valiant,  as  wise,  no  less  noble,  much  more 
gentle,  and  altogether  more  tractable.  160 

Ajax.  Why  should  a  man  be  proud?  How 
doth  pride  grow  ?     I  know  not  what  pride  is. 

134.  Than  in  the  note  ofjttdge-     with  the    dictates    of   his   arro- 
ment,    '  than  true  judges  know     gance. 
him  to  be.'  i39-     iunes,     moods.       For 

137.  underwrite  in  an  observ-     pettish   lunes,    Y■^    has    '  pettish 
ing  kind,  obsequiently   comply     Hnes,"  the  Q  'course  and  time-' 

416 


SC.  Ill 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


Agam.  Your  mind  is  the  clearer,  Ajax,  and 
your  virtues  the  fairer.  He  that  is  proud  eats 
up  himself:  pride  is  his  own  glass,  his  own 
trumpet,  his  own  chronicle  ;  and  whatever  praises 
itself  but  in  the  deed,  devours  the  deed  in  the 
praise. 

Ajax.  I  do  hate  a  proud  man,  as  I  hate  the 
engendering  of  toads.  17° 

Nest.  Yet  he  loves  himself:  is 't  not  strange? 

[Aside. 

Re-enter  Ulysses. 

Ulyss.   Achilles  will  not  to  the  field  to-morrow. 

Agam.  What 's  his  excuse  ? 

Ulyss.  He  doth  rely  on  none, 

But  carries  on  the  stream  of  his  dispose  ■^p.yv»*^ 

Without  observance  or  respect  of  any, 
In  will  peculiar  and  in  self-admission. 

Agam.  Why  will  he  not  upon  our  fair  request 
Untent  his  person  and  share  the  air  with  us  ? 

Ulyss.    Things  small  as  nothing,  for  request's 
sake  only, 
He  makes  important:  possess'd  he  is  with  greatness,  iSo 
And  speaks  not  to  himself  but  with  a  pride  .j 

That  quarrels  at  self-breath  :  imagined  worth  A^c?  (Th^C  (AH>'^-So 
Holds  in  his  blood  such  swoln  and  hot  discourse 
That  'twixt  his  mental  and  his  active  parts 
Kingdom'd  Achilles  in  commotion  rages 
And  batters  down  himself:  what  should  I  say? 

170.  engendering,  spawn.  dom,   i.e.   divided  against  him- 

174.   dispose,   disposal,   deter-  self  like  a  country  in  civil  war. 

mination.       -  The  image  here  compressed  into 

176.   in  self-admission,  at  his  an  epithet  is  given  in  full  in  JuL 

own  choice.  Cas.  ii.  i.  68  : — 

182.      self -breath,     his     own  The  state  of  man, 

words.  Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  thai 

185.    Kingdom'd,  like  a  king-  The  nature  of  an  insurrection. 

VOL.  Ill  417  ^  ^ 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  u 

He  is  so  plaguy  proud  that  the  death-tokens  of  it 
Cry  '  No  recovery.' 

A}fa/H.  Let  Ajax  go  to  him. 

Dear  lord,  go  you  and  greet  him  in  his  tent : 
'Tis  said  he  holds  you  well,  and  will  be  led  190 

At  your  request  a  little  from  himself. 

(J/yss.   O  Agamemnon,  let  it  not  be  so  ! 
We  '11  consecrate  the  steps  that  Ajax  makes 
When  they  go  from  Achilles  :  shall  the  proud  lord 
That  bastes  his  arrogance  with  his  own  seam,       4  aA 
And  never  suffers  matter  of  the  world 
Enter  his  thoughts,  save  such  as  do  revolve 
And  ruminate  himself,  shall  he  be  worshipp'd 
y.,^_  Of  that  we  hold  an  idol  more  than  he  ? 

:  No,  this  thrice  worthy  and  right  valiant  lord  aoo 

Must  not  so  stale  his  palm,  nobly  acquired  is-..  yvi\J(ii^   ' 
^l^■*^'^         Nor,  by  my  will,  assubjugate  his  merit,  J  ~~ -^ 

As  amply  titled  as  Achilles  is, 
By  going  to  Achilles  : 
That  were  to  enlard  his  fat  already  pride 
And  add  more  coals  to  Cancer  when  he  burns 
With  entertaining  great  Hyperion. 
This  lord  go  to  him  !      Jupiter  forbid, 
And  say  in  thunder  '  Achilles  go  to  him.' 

JVest.    \_Aside  to  -Dio.]   O,  this  is  well ;   he  rubs 
the  vein  of  him.  210 

Z>io.     [Aside    to   Nest?[     And    how   his   silence 
drinks  up  this  applause  ! 

Ajax.    If  I  go  to  him,  with  my  armed  fist 
I  '11  pash  him  o'er  the  face. 

187.   death-tokens,  '  the  spots  201.  palm,    the   victor's    em- 

which  indicate  the  approaching  blem. 

death    of    plague- stricken    per-  202.     assubjugate,   lower,   de- 
sons.'  base. 

190.   holds  you  well,  regards  207.   Hyperion,  the  sun-god. 

you  highly.  213.    pash,    give   a    crushing 

195.  seam,  grease,  lard.  blow. 

418 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Agam.  O,  no,  you  shall  not  go. 

Ajax.    An  a'  be   proud  with  me,  I  '11   pheeze 
his  pride  : 
Let  me  go  to  him. 

Ulyss.    Not  for  the  worth  that  hangs  upon  our 
quarrel. 

Ajax.  A  paltry,  insolent  fellow  ! 

Nest.   How  he  describes  himself! 

Ajax.  Can  he  not  be  sociable  ?  220 

Ulyss.   The  raven  chides  blackness. 

Ajax.   I  '11  let  his  humours  blood. 

Agam.  He  will  be  the  physician  that  should 
be  the  patient. 

Ajax.  An  all  men  were  o'  my  mind, — 

Ulyss.  Wit  would  be  out  of  fashion. 

Ajax.  A'  should  not  bear  it  so,  a'  should  eat 
swords  first :  shall  pride  carry  it  ? 

Nest.   An  'twould,  you  'Id  carry  half. 

Ulyss.  A'  would  have  ten  shares.  330 

Ajax.  I  will  knead  him ;  I  '11  make  him  supple. 

Nest.  He 's  not  yet  through  warm  :  force  him 
with  praises  :  pour  in,  pour  in ;  his  ambition  is 
dry, 

Ulyss.  [To  Agam.]  My  lord,  you  feed  too 
much  on  this  dislike. 

Nest.   Our  noble  general,  do  not  do  so. 

Dlo.  You  must  prepare  to  fight  without  Achilles. 

Ulyss.  Why,  'tis  this  naming  of  him  does  him  harm. 
Here  is  a  man — but  'tis  before  his  face ;  240 

I  will  be  silent. 

Nest.  Wherefore  should  you  so  ? 

He  is  not  emulous,  as  Achilles  is. 

Ulyss.-  Know  the  whole  world,  he  is  as  valiant. 

Ajax.   A  whoreson  dog,  that  shall  palter  thus 
with  us  ! 

215.  pheeze,  belabour,  pay  off.  232.  force,  stuff. 

419 


Troilus  and  Cressida  acth 

Would  he  were  a  Trojan  ! 

IVest  AVhat  a  vice  were  it  in  Ajax  now, — 

Ulyss.   If  he  were  proud, — 

Dio.   Or  covetous  of  praise, — 

Ulyss.   Ay,  or  surly  borne, — 

Dio.   Or  strange,  or  self-affected  !  V.^U^'^"'  ,  250 

Ulyss.    Tliank  the   heavens,  lord,  thou   art   of 
sweet  composure  ;   ' 
Praise  him  that  got  thee,  she  that  gave  thee  suck : 
Famed  be  thy  tutor,  and  thy  parts  of  nature 
Thrice  famed,  beyond  all  erudition  : 
But  he  that  disciplined  thy  arms  to  fight, 
Let  Mars  divide  eternity  in  twain. 
And  give  him  lialf :  and,  for  thy  vigour, 
Bull-bearing  Milo  his  addition  yield  ixtL^ 
.  To  sinewy  Ajax.      I  will  not  praise  thy  wisdom, 

j-'>-rt-\  jf         Which,  like  a  bourn,  a  pale,  a  shore,  confines  260 

Thy  spacious  and  dilated  parts  :  here  's  Nestor ; 
Instructed  by  the  antiquary  times. 
He  must,  he  is,  he  cannot  but  be  wise : 
But  pardon,  father  Nestor,  were  your  days 
As  green  as  Ajax'  and  your  brain  so  temper'd, 
Vou  should  not  have  the  eminence  of  him. 
But  be  as  Ajax. 

Ajax.  Shall  I  call  you  father  ? 

Nest.   Ay,  my  good  son. 

Dio.  Be  ruled  by  him.  Lord  Ajax. 

Ulyss.     There   is   no  tarrying   here ;    the    hart 
Achilles 
Keeps  thicket.      Please  it  our  great  general  270 

To  call  together  all  his  state  of  war  ; 
Fresh  kings  are  come  to  Troy  :  to-morrow 
We  must  with  all  our  main  of  power  stand  fast : 

250.  self-affccted,  self-loving.  258.    addition,    title.       Milo, 

a    Greek    athlete,   was   credited 

251.  composure,  composition.       with  this  feat. 

420 


ACT  III 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


And  here's  a  lord, — come  knights  from  east  to 

west, 
And  cull  their  flower,  Ajax  shall  cope  the  best. 

Agam.  Go  we  to  council.      Let  Achilles  sleep : 
Light  boats  sail  swift,  though  greater  hulks  draw 

deep.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  in. 

Scene  L      Troy.     Friam's  palace. 

Efiter  a  Servant  and  Pandarus. 

Pan.  Friend,  you  !  pray  you,  a  word  :  do  not 
you  follow  the  young  Lord  Paris  ? 

Sen'.  Ay,  sir,  when  he  goes  before  me. 

Pan.  You  depend  upon  him,  I  mean  ? 

Serv.   Sir,  I  do  depend  upon  the  lord. 

Pan.  You  depend  upon  a  noble  gentleman ;  I 
must  needs  praise  him. 

Serv.  The  lord  be  praised  ! 

Pan.  You  know  me,  do  you  not? 

Serv.  Faith,  sir,  superficially.  lo 

Pan.  Friend,  know  me  better ;  I  am  the  Lord 
Pandarus. 

Serv.   I  hope  I  shall  know  your  honour  better. 

Pan.   I  do  desire  it. 

Serv.  You  are  in  the  state  of  grace. 

Pan.  Grace  !  not  so,  friend  :  honour  and  lord- 

277.   Agamenmon's  words  are  that  no  pause  was  observed  be- 
immediately  followed  in  the  Folio  tween  the  acts, 
by  the    stage-direction,    '  Music 

sounds  within,'  i.e.  the  music  of         12.   better  (quibbling),  to  be  a 

the   following   scene  ;    showing  better  maa. 

421 


Troilus  and  Cressida         act  m 

ship  are  my  titles.     [Jlfi/sic  within?\     What  music 
is  this  ? 

Serv.  I  do  but  partly  know,  sir :  it  is  music  in 
parts.  20 

Pan.   Know  you  the  musicians  .? 

Serv.   Wholly,  sir. 

Pati.   Who  play  they  to  ? 

Serv.  To  the  hearers,  sir. 

Pan.   At  whose  pleasure,  friend  ? 

Serv.   At  mine,  sir,  and  theirs  that  love  music. 

Pan.   Command,  I  mean,  friend. 

Serv.  Who  shall  I  command,  sir? 

Pan.   Friend,  we  understand  not  one  another : 
I  am  too  courtly  and  thou  art  too  cunning.      At   30 
whose  request  do  these  men  play  ? 

Serv.  That 's  to 't  indeed,  sir  :  marry,  sir,  at 
the  request  of  Paris  my  lord,  who 's  there  in 
person ;  with  him,  the  mortal  Venus,  the  heart- 
blood  of  beauty,  love's  invisible  soul, — 

Pan.   Who,  my  cousin  Cressida  ? 

Serv.  No,  sir,  Helen  :  could  you  not  find  out 
that  by  her  attributes  ? 

Pan.    It   should   seem,   fellow,   that   thou   hast 
not  seen  the  Lady  Cressida.      I    come  to   speak   40 
with  Paris  from  the  Prince  Troilus  :  I  will  make 
a  complimental  assault  upon  him,  for  my  business 
seethes. 

Serv.  Sodden  business  !  there  's  a  stewed  phrase 
indeed ! 

Enter  Paris  and  Helen,  attended. 

Pan.  Fair  be  to  you,  my  lord,  and  to  all  this 
fair   company !  fair    desires,    in   all   fair   measure, 

44.    sodden;  alluding  to   the       Hence       the       equivoque      in 
cure    of    the    French    disease.        '  stewed. ' 

422 


sc.  I  Troilus  and  Cressida 

fairly  guide  them  !  especially  to  you,  fair  queen ! 
fair  thoughts  be  your  fair  pillo\Y  ! 

Helen.   Dear  lord,  you  are  full  of  fair  words.  50 

Pan.  You  speak  your  fair  pleasure,  sweet  queen. 
Fair  prince,  here  is  good  broken  music. 

Par.  You  have  broke  it,  cousin  :  and,  by  my 
life,  you  shall  make  it  whole  again ;  you  shall 
piece  it  out  with  a  piece  of  your  performance. 
Nell,  he  is  full  of  harmony. 

Pa7i.  Truly,  lady,  no. 

Helen.   O,  sir, — 

Pan.  Rude,  in  sooth ;  in  good  sooth,  very 
rude.  60 

Par.  Well  said,  my  lord  !  well,  you  say  so  in 
fits. 

Pan.  I  have  business  to  my  lord,  dear  queen. 
My  lord,  will  you  vouchsafe  me  a  word  ? 

Helen.  Nay,  this  shall  not  hedge  us  out:  we'll 
hear  you  sing,  certainly. 

Paji.  Well,  sweet  queen,  you  are  pleasant 
with  me.  But,  marry,  thus,  my  lord :  my  dear 
lord  and  most  esteemed  friend,  your  brother 
Troilus, —  70 

Helen.  My  Lord  Pandarus ;  honey  -  sweet 
lord, — 

Pan.  Go  to,  sweet  queen,  go  to : — commends 
himself  most  affectionately  to  you, — 

Helen.  You  shall  not  bob  us  out  of  our  melody  : 
if  you  do,  our  melancholy  upon  your  head  ! 

52.    broken  music,    music    in  consort  music,  some  consorts  of 

parts    (cf.    V.    20),   arranged  for  instruments    are     sweeter    than 

different       instruments.          The  others.' 

phrase    (on-  which   Shakespeare  6r.   in  fits,    out    of    sudden 

several      times     plays)     is     best  caprice.     But  Paris  also  quibbles 

illustrated   by   Bacon's    remark,  on   the  musical  sense  of  fit,  the 

Sylva,  §  278  :     '  In  that  music,  '  division  of  a  song.' 

which  we  call  broken  music  or  75.  bob,  trick. 

423 


Troilus  and  Cressida         act  m 

Pan.  Sweet  queen,  sweet  queen  !  that 's  a  sweet 
queen,  i'  faith. 

Helcji.  And  to  make  a  sweet  lady  sad  is  a  sour 
oftence.  80 

Pan.  Nay,  that  shall  not  serve  your  turn  ;  that 
shall  it  not,  in  truth,  la.  Nay,  I  care  not  for  such 
words  ;  no,  no.  And,  my  lord,  he  desires  you, 
that  if  the  king  call  for  him  at  supper,  you  will 
make  his  excuse. 

Helen.    My  lord  Pandarus, — 

Pan.  What  says  my  sweet  queen,  my  very  very 
sweet  queen  ? 

Par.  What  exploit 's  in  hand  ?  where  sups  he 
to-night  ?  90 

Helen.    Nay,  but,  my  lord, — 

Pan.  What  says  my  sweet  queen  ?  My  cousin 
will  fall  out  with  you.  You  must  not  know  where 
he  sups. 

Far.  I  '11  lay  my  life,  with  my  disposer  Cres- 
sida. 

Pan.  No,  no,  no  such  matter ;  you  are  wide : 
come,  your  disposer  is  sick. 

Par.    Well,  I  '11  make  excuse. 

Pan.  Ay,  good  my  lord.     W^y  should  you  say  100 
Cressida  ?  no,  your  poor  disposer  's  sick. 

Par.   I  spy. 

Pan.  You  spy  !  what  do  you  spy  ?  Come,  give 
me  an  instrument.     Now,  sweet  queen. 

Helen.   Wliy,  this  is  kindly  done. 

Pan.  My  niece  is  horribly  in  love  with  a  thing 
you  have,  sweet  queen. 

Helen.  She  shall  have  it,  my  lord,  if  it  be  not 
my  lord  Paris. 

Pan.    He!   no,  she'll  none  of  him;  they  two  no 
are  twain. 

Helen.  Falling  in,  after  falling  out,  may  make 
them  three.  ,2± 


SC.  I 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


Pan.  Come,  come,  I  '11  hear  no  more  of  this  ; 
I  '11  sing  you  a  song  now. 

Helen.  Ay,  ay,  prithee  now.     By  my  troth,  sweet 
lord,  thou  hast  a  fine  forehead. 
Pan.   Ay,  you  may,  you  may. 
Helen.   Let   thy  song   be   love :     this   love  will 
undo  us  all.     O  Cupid,  Cupid,  Cupid  !  120 

Pa7i.   Love  !  ay,  that  it  shall,  i'  faith. 
Par.    Ay,    good  now,    love,    love,    nothing  but 
love. 

Pan.   In  good  troth,  it  begins  so.  \Sings. 

Love,  love,  nothing  but  love,  still  more  ! 
For,  O,  love's  bow 
Shoots  buck  and  doe  : 
The  shaft  confounds, 
Not  that  it  wounds, 
But  tickles  still  the  sore.  130 

These  lovers  cry  Oh  !  oh  !  they  die  ! 

Yet  that  which  seems  the  wound  to  kill, 
Doth  turn  oh  !  oh  !  to  ha  !  ha  !  he  ! 

So  dying  love  lives  still : 
Oh  !  oh  !  a  while,  but  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
Oh  !  oh  !  groans  out  for  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
Heigh-ho ! 

Helen.  In  love,  i'  faith,  to  the  ver}'  tip  of  the 
nose. 

Par.   He  eats  nothing  but  doves,  love,  and  that  140 
breeds    hot    blood,    and    hot    blood    begets    hot 
thoughts,  and  hot  thoughts  beget  hot  deeds,  and 
hot  deeds  is  love. 

Pan.  Is  this  the  generation  of  love  ?  hot  blood, 
hot  thoughts,  and  hot  deeds  ?  Why,  they  are 
vipers :  is  love  a  generation  of  vipers  ?  Sweet 
lord,  who  's  a-field  to-day  ? 

Par.    Hector,    Deiphobus,    Helenus,    Antenor, 

132.   the  wound  to  kill,  a  mortal  wound. 
425 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  m 

and  all  the  gallantry  of  Troy  :  I  would  fain  have 
armed  to-day,  but  my  Nell  would  not  have  it  so.  150 
How  chance  my  brother  Troilus  went  not  ? 

Helen.  He  hangs  the  lip  at  something:  you 
know  all.  Lord  Pandarus. 

Pan.  Not  I,  honey-sweet  queen.  I  long  to 
hear  how  they  sped  to-day.  You  '11  remember 
your  brother's  excuse  ? 

Par.   To  a  hair. 

Pan.  Farewell,  sweet  queen. 

Helen.   Commend  me  to  your  niece. 

Pan.   I  will,  sweet  queen.  \Exit.  160 

\A  retreat  sounded. 

Par.     They  're    come    from    field :     let    us    to 
Priam's  hall, 
To  greet  the  warriors.     Sweet  Helen,  I  must  woo 

you 
To  help  unarm  our  Hector :  his  stubborn  buckles, 
With  these  your  white  enchanting  fingers  touch'd, 
Shall  more  obey  than  to  the  edge  of  steel 
Or  force  of  Greekish  sinews  ;  you  shall  do  more 
Than  all  the  island  kings, — disarm  great  Hector. 

Helen.   'Twill  make  us  proud  to  be  his  servant, 
Paris  ; 
Yea,  what  he  shall  receive  of  us  in  duty 
Gives  us  more  palm  in  beauty  than  we  have,  170 

Yea,  overshines  ourself. 

Par.  Sweet,  above  thought  I  love  thee. 

\Exeiint. 

Scene  H.      The  same.     Pandarus  orchard. 

Enter  Pandarus  and  Troilus'  Boy,  meeting. 

Pan.    How  now  !  where 's  thy  master  ?  at  my 
cousin  Cressida's  ? 

170.  palm.     See  note  to  ii.  3.  201. 
426 


SC.  II 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


Boy.  No,  sir ;  he  stays  for  you  to  conduct  him 
thither. 

Pan.  0,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Troilus. 

How  now,  how  now  ! 

Tro.   Sirrah,  walk  off.  \_Exit  Boy. 

Pan.   Have  you  seen  my  cousin? 

Tro.   No,  Pandarus  :  I  stalk  about  her  door, 
Like  a  strange  soul  upon  the  Stygian  banks  lo 

Staying  for  waftage.      O,  be  thou  my  Charon, 
And  give  me  swift  transportance  to  those  fields 
Where  I  may  wallow  in  the  lily-beds 
Proposed  for  the  deserver  !     O  gentle  Pandarus, 
From  Cupid's  shoulder  pluck  his  painted  wings. 
And  fly  with  me  to  Cressid  ! 

Pan.  Walk  here  i'  the  orchard,  I'll  bring  her 
straight.  -  {Exit. 

Tro.   I  am  giddy  ;  expectation  whirls  me  round. 
The  imaginary  relish  is  so  sweet  20 

That  it  enchants  my  sense  :  what  will  it  be, 
When  that  the  watery  palate  tastes  indeed 
Love's  thrice  repured  nectar  ?  death,  I  fear  me, 
Swounding  destruction,  or  some  joy  too  fine. 
Too  subtle-potent,  tuned  too  sharp  in  sweetness, 
For  the  capacity  of  my  ruder  powers  : 
I  fear  it  much  :  and  I  do  fear  besides, 
That  I  shall  lose  distinction  in  my  joys ; 
As  doth  a  battle,  when  they  charge  on  heaps    AA/y^^ 
The  enemy  flying.  30 

Re-enter  Pandarus. 

Pan.    She 's    making    her    ready,    she  '11    come 
straight :    you  must  be  witty  now.     She  does  so 

10.   strange,  newly  arrived.  24.    Swounding,  swooning. 

23.  repured,  refined,  distilled. 
So  Q.     Ff  read  reputed.  29.   battle,  army. 

427 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  m 

blush,  and  fetches  her  wind  so  short,  as  if  she 
were  frayed  with  a  sprite  :  I  '11  fetch  her.  It  is 
the  prettiest  villain :  she  fetches  her  breath  as 
short  as  a  new-ta'en  sparrow.  \_Exit. 

Tro.    Even  such  a  passion   doth  embrace  my 
bosom  : 
My  heart  beats  thicker  than  a  feverous  pulse ; 
And  all  my  powers  do  their  bestowing  lose, 
Like  vassalage  at  unawares  encountering  40 

The  eye  of  majesty. 

Re-enter  Pandarus  with  Cressida, 

Pan.  Come,  come,  what  need  you  blush  ? 
shame  's  a  baby.  Here  she  is  now  :  swear  the 
oaths  now  to  her  that  you  have  sworn  to  me. 
What,  are  you  gone  again  ?  you  must  be  watched 
ere  you  be  made  tame,  must  you?  Come  your 
ways,  come  your  ways ;  an  you  draw  backward, 
we  '11  put  you  i'  the  fills.  Why  do  you  not  speak 
to  her  ?  Come,  draw  this  curtain,  and  let 's  see 
your  picture.  Alas  the  day,  how  loath  you  are  50 
to  offend  daylight !  an  'twere  dark,  you  'Id  close 
sooner.  So,  so;  rub  on,  and  kiss  the  mistress. 
How  now  !  a  kiss  in  fee-farm  !  build  there,  car- 
penter ;  the  air  is  sweet.  Nay,  you  shall  fight 
your  hearts  out  ere  I  part  you.  The  falcon  as  the 
tercel,  for  all  the  ducks  i'  the  river  :  go  to,  go  to. 

34.  frayed,  frightened.  incline     inwards     towards     this 

39.  besto^ving,  use.  ball. 

40.  vassalage,  assembled  vas-  53.    in  fee-farm,  as  a  posses- 
sals,  sion  in  perpetuity  ;  an  enduring 

48.  Jills,  shafts.  kiss.      Troilus  is  to  take  posses- 

52.    rub  on,  and  kiss  the  mis-  sion  of  a  freehold  whose  '  sweet 

tress.       '  Mistress  '    and    '  rub '  air  '  invites  occupation, 
were  terms  in  the  game  of  bowls  ;  55.    The  falcon  as  the  tercel, 

meaning,  respectively,  the 'small  the  female  hawk  is  as  good  as 

ball,    now    called    the   jack,    at  the  male  for  the  chase.      It  was 

which  the  players  aim,'  and  to  held  to  be  better. 

428 


sc.  ri  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Tro.  You  have  bereft  me  of  all  words,  lady. 

Pan.  Words  pay  no  debts,  give  her  deeds : 
but  she  '11  bereave  you  o'  the  deeds  too,  if  she 
call  your  activity  in  question.  What,  billing  60 
again  ?  Here  's  '  In  witness  whereof  the  parties 
interchangeably  ' — Come  in,  come  in  :  I  '11  go  get 
a  fire.  \Exit. 

C}rs.  "Will  you  walk  in,  my  loi'd  ? 

Tro.  O  Cressida,  how  often  have  I  wished  me 
thus! 

Cres.  Wished,  my  lord  !  The  gods  grant, — O 
my  lord  ! 

Tro.     What    should    they   grant  ?    what  makes 
this   pretty   abruption?       "What    too    curious   dreg   70 
espies  my  sweet  lady  in  the  fountain  of  our  love  ? 

Cres.  More  dregs  than  water,  if  my  fears  have 
eyes. 

Tro.  Fears  make  devils  of  cherubins ;  they 
never  see  truly. 

Cres.  Blind  fear,  that  seeing  reason  leads, 
finds  safer  footing  than  blind  reason  stumbling 
without  fear :  to  fear  the  worst  oft  cures  the 
worse. 

Tro.   O,  let  my  lady  appreliend  no  fear  :   in  all   80 
Cupid's  pageant  there  is  presented  no  monster. 

Cres.   Nor  nothing  monstrous  neither? 

Tro.  Nothing,  but  our  undertakings ;  when  we 
vow  to  weep  seas,  live  in  fire,  eat  rocks,  tame 
tigers  ;  thinking  it  harder  for  our  mistress  to  devise 
imposition  enough  than  for  us  to  undergo  any 
difficulty  imposed.  This  is  the  monstruosity  in 
love,  lady,  that  the  will  is  infinite  and  the  execu- 

60.     liliing,    a    play    on    the  70.   abruptio7i,  breaking  off. 

lesjal  sense  of '  bill,' as  in  '  deeds ' 

^  TT  T-.     J         ■         .  lb.     curious,     care  -  causing, 

above.     Hence  Pandarus  quota-  .  '  °' 

tion  of  the  final  declaration  of      gT'^^ous. 
the  parties  to  a  contract.  86.    undergo,  undertake. 

429 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  m 

tion  confined,  that  the  desire  is  boundless  and  the 
act  a  slave  to  limit.  90 

Cres.  They  say  all  lovers  swear  more  perform- 
ance than  they  are  able  and  yet  reserve  an  ability 
that  they  never  perform,  vowing  more  than  the 
perfection  of  ten  and  discharging  less  than  the 
tenth  part  of  one.  They  that  have  the  voice  of 
lions  and  the  act  of  hares,  are  they  not  monsters  ? 

T)o.  Are  there  such  ?  such  are  not  we  :  praise 
us  as  we  are  tasted,  allow  us  as  we  prove ;  our 
head  shall  go  bare  till  merit  crown  it :  no  perfec- 
tion in  reversion  shall  have  a  praise  in  present :  100 
we  will  not  name  desert  before  his  birth,  and, 
being  born,  his  addition  shall  be  humble.  Feu- 
words  to  fair  faith  :  Troilus  shall  be  such  to 
Cressid  as  what  envy  can  say  worst  shall  be  a 
mock  for  his  truth,  and  what  truth  can  speak 
truest  not  truer  than  Troilus. 

Cres.  Will  you  walk  in,  my  lord? 


Re-e/itcr  Pandarus. 

Pan.  What,  blushing  still?  have  you  not  done 
talking  yet  ? 

Cres.  Well,  uncle,  what  folly  I  commit,  I  dedi- 
cate to  you. 

Pan.  I  thank  you  for  that :  if  my  lord  get  a 
boy  of  you,  you  '11  give,  him  me.  Be  true  to  my 
lord  :  if  he  flinch,  chide  me  for  it. 

Tro.  You  know  now  your  hostages  ;  your  uncle's 
word  and  my  firm  faith. 

Pan.  Nay,  I  '11  give  my  word  for  her  too  :  our 
kindred,  though  they  be  long  ere  they  are  wooed, 
they  are  constant  being  won  :  they  are  burs,  I  can 
tell  you ;  they  '11  stick  where  they  are  thrown. 

lOii.   addition,  title. 


sc.  II  Trollus  and  Cressida 

Cres.  Boldness  comes  to  me  now,  and  brings 
me  heart. 
Prince  Troilus,  I  have  loved  you  night  and  day 
For  many  weary  months. 

Tro.   Why  was    my   Cressid    then    so    hard   to 
win  ? 

Cres.   Hard  to  seem  won  :  but  I  was  won,  my 
lord, 
With  the  first  glance  that  ever — pardon  me — 
If  I  confess  much,  you  will  play  the  tyrant. 
I  love  you  now ;  but  not,  till  now,  so  much 
But  I  might  master  it  :  in  faith,  I  lie ; 
My  thoughts  were  like  unbridled  children,  grown     130 
Too  headstrong  for  their  mother.     See,  we  fools  ! 
AVhy  have  I  blabb'd  ?  who  shall  be  true  to  us, 
When  we  are  so  unsecret  to  ourselves  ? 
But,  though  I  loved  you  well,  I  woo'd  you  not : 
And  yet,  good  faith,  I  wish'd  myself  a  man. 
Or  that  we  women  had  men's  privilege 
Of  speaking  first.     Sweet,  bid  me  hold  my  tongue, 
For  in  this  rapture  I  shall  surely  speak 
The  thing  I  shall  repent.     See,  see,  your  silence. 
Cunning  in  dumbness,  from  my  weakness  draws      140 
My  very  soul  of  counsel !  stop  my  mouth.  p* 

Tro.  And    shall,     albeit    sweet    music    issues^ 
thence. 

Pan.   Pretty,  i'  faith. 

Cres.  My  lord,  I  do  beseech  you,  pardon  me ; 
'Twas  not  my  purpose,  thus  to  beg  a  kiss : 
I  am  ashamed.      O  heavens  !  what  have  I  done  ? 
For  this  time  will  I  take  my  leave,  my  lord. 

Tro.   Your  leave,  sweet  Cressid  ! 

Pan.  <Leave !  an  you  take  leave  till  to-morrow 
morning, —  150 

Cres.  Pray  you,  content  you. 

Tro.  Wliat  offends  you,  lady? 

431 


Troilus  and  Cressida         act  m 

Cres.   Sir,  mine  own  company. 

Tro.  You  cannot  shun 

Yourself. 

Cres.   Let  me  go  and  try : 
I  have  a  kind  of  self  resides  with  you  ; 
But  an  unkind  self,  that  itself  will  leave, 
To  be  another's  fool.      I  would  be  gone : 
Where  is  my  wit  ?      I  know  not  what  I  speak. 

Tro.    Well    know    they   what    they   speak    that 
speak  so  \visely. 

Cres.   Perchance,  my   lord,   I   show  more  craft 
than  love ;  i6o 

And  fell  so  roundly  to  a  large  confession, 
To  angle  for  your  thoughts  :   but  you  are  wise, 
Or  else  you  love  not,  for  to  be  wise  and  love 
Exceeds  man's  might ;  that  dwells  with  gods  above. 

Tro.   O  that  I  thought  it  could  be  in  a  woman — 
As,  if  it  can,  I  will  presume  in  you — 
P  V'  To  feed  for  aye  her  lamp  and  flames  of  love ; 

To  keep  her  constancy  in  plight  and  youth, 
Outliving  beauty's  outward,  with  a  mind 
That  doth  renew  swifter  than  blood  decays  !  170 

Or  that  persuasion  could  but  thus  convince  me, 
That  my  integrity  and  truth  to  you 
Might  be  affronted  with  the  match  and  weight 
Of  such  a  winnow'd  purity  in  love  ; 
How  were  I  then  uplifted  !  but,  alas  ! 
I  am  as  true  as  truth's  simplicity 
And  simpler  than  the  infancy  of  truth. 

Cres.   In  that  I  '11  war  with  you. 

Tro.  O  virtuous  fight, 

When  right  with  right  wars  who  shall  be  most  right ! 

156.    it::elf,  i.e.  Cressida.  168.  plight,  good  condit'on. 

.  ,,        ,   .  ,  .,  173.  c^tjw/^rf,  met,  responded 

i6r.    roundly,    plainly,    with-      1 

out  circumstance.  '  ,  ■„-, 

174.  such  a.  I.e.  a  similar. 


sc.  II  Troilus  and  Cressida 

True  swains  in  love  shall  in  the  world  to  come         iSo 
Approve    their    truths    by    Troilus :    when    their 

rhymes, 
Full  of  protest,  of  oath  and  big  compare, 
Want  similes,  truth  tired  with  iteration, 
As  true  as  steel,  as  plantage  to  the  moon, 
As  sun  to  day,  as  turtle  to  her  mate, 
As  iron  to  adamant,  as  earth  to  the  centre, 
Yet,  after  all  comparisons  of  truth. 
As  truth's  authentic  author  to  be  cited, 
'  As  true  as  Troilus '  shall  crown  up  the  verse. 
And  sanctify  the  numbers. 

Cres.  Prophet  may  you  be  !  igo 

If  I  be  false,  or  swerve  a  hair  from  truth, 
When  time  is  old  and  hath  forgot  itself. 
When  waterdrops  have  worn  the  stones  of  Troy, 
And  blind  oblivion  swallow'd  cities  up. 
And  mighty  states  characterless  are  grated 
To  dusty  nothing,  yet  let  memory. 
From  false  to  false,  among  false  maids  in  love, 
Upbraid  my  falsehood !    when    they  've   said   *  as 

false 
As  air,  as  water,  wind,  or  sandy  earth, 
As  fox  to  lamb,  as  wolf  to  heifer's  calf,  200 

Pard  to  the  hind,  or  stepdame  to  her  son,' 
'Yea,'  let   them  say,  to  stick   the   heart  of  false- 
hood, 
'As  false  as  Cressid.' 

Pan.  Go  to,  a  bargain  made :  seal  it,  seal 
it ;  I  '11  be  the  witness.  Here  I  hold  your  hand, 
here  my  cousin's.     If  ever  you  prove  false  one  to 

184.     plantage,       vegetation  use   the   meanings   of  loadstone 

(which  was  thought  to  be  affected  and    diamond,     the    two    sub- 

iDy  the  changes  of  the  moon).  stances    being    popularly    iden- 

rS6.    adamant,    magnet    (Fr,  tified. 

aimant).      The  word  combines  195.     characterless,     without 

in    medioeval   and    Elizabethan  trace  or  record. 

VOL.  Ill  433  2  F 


Troilus  and  Cressida         act  m 

another,  since  I  have  taken  such  pains  to  bring 
you  together,  let  all  pitiful  goers-between  be  called 
to  the  world's  end  after  my  name ;  call  them  all 
Pandars ;  let  all  constant  men  be  Troiluses,  all  210 
false  women  Cressids,  and  all  brokers-between 
Pandars  !  say,  amen. 

Tro.  Amen. 

Cres.  Amen. 

jPan.  Amen.  Whereupon  I  will  show  you  a 
chamber  with  a  bed  ;  which  bed,  because  it  shall 
not  speak  of  your  pretty  encounters,  press  it  to 
death  :   away  ! 

And  Cupid  grant  all  tongue-tied  maidens  here 
Bed,  chamber,  Pandar  to  provide  this  gear  !  220 

[£xeunf. 


Scene  III.     T/ie  Grecian  camp.     Before  Achilles' 

tent. 

Enter  Agamemnon,  Ulysses,  Diomedes,  Nestor. 

AjAX,  Menelaus,  a«^  Calchas./ ,     /i^Mi  ^' 

Cat.   Now,  princes,  for  the  service  I  have  doneT^*'!  ^'^^ 
you, 
The  advantage  of  the  time  prompts  me  aloud 
To  call  for  recompense.     Appear  it  to  }our  mind 
That,  through  the^sight  I  bear  in  things  to  love,     '    ' ' 
I  have  abandon'd  Troy,  left  my  possession, 
Incurr'd  a  traitor's  name ;  exposed  myself, 

216.  because  it  shall  not,  lest  '  things  to  come.'  Johnson  pro- 
it  should.  posed  '  Jove  '  for  love,  reading  : 

4.    '  Through  my  peculiar  in-  '  through    the    sight    I   bear   in 

sight    into    what    is    desirable.'  things,    to    Jove    I    have  aban- 

But  this  meaning  is  somewhat  don'd  Troy,'  which  implies  that 

forced.      No  satisfactory  emen-  Jove  favoured  the  Greeks.     Col- 

dation  has  been  proposed.      F4  lier's  '  things  above '  is  easy  but 

substitutes     the     commonplace  un-Shakespearean. 

434 


sc.  Ill  Trollus  and  Cressida 

From  certain  and  possess'd  conveniences, 

To  doubtful  fortunes  ;  sequestering  from  me  all 

That  time,  acquaintance,  custom  and  condition 

Made  tame  and  most  familiar  to  my  nature,  lo 

And  here,  to  do  you  service,  am  become 

As  new  into  the  world,  strange,  unacquainted : 

I  do  beseech  you,  as  in  way  of  taste, 

To  give  me  now  a  little  benefit. 

Out  of  those  many  register'd  in  promise, 

Which,  you  say,  live  to  come  in  my  behalf. 

Agam.  What    wouldst    thou    of    us,    Trojan? 
make  demand. 

Cal.  You   have   a   Trojan   prisoner,  call'd   An- 
tenor, 
Yesterday  took  :  Troy  holds  him  very  dear. 
Oft  have  you — often  have  you  thanks  therefore —     20 
Desired  my  Cressid  in  right  great  exchange. 
Whom  Troy  hath  still  denied  :  but  this  Antenor, 
I  know,  is  such  a  wrest  in  their  affairs 
That  their  negotiations  all  must  slack, 
Wanting  his  manage  ;  and  they  will  almost 
Give  us  a  prince  of  blood,  a  son  of  Priam, 
In  change  of  him  :  let  him  be  sent,  great  princes, 
And  he  shall  buy  my  daughter ;  and  her  presence 
Shall  quite  strike  off  all  service  I  have  done, 
In  most  accepted  pain. 

Agam.  Let  Diomedes  bear  him,    30 

And  bring  us  Cressid  hither  :  Calchas  shall  have 
What  he  requests  of  us.     Good  Diomed, 
Furnish  you  fairly  for  this  interchange  : 
Withal  bring  word  if  Hector  will  to-morrow 
Be  answer'd  in  his  challenge  :  Ajax  is  ready. 

21.    in  right  great  exchange,  23.   wrest,  tuning-key. 

i.e.    offering  a   Trojan  prisoner  25.    manage,  control, 

of  great  distinction  in  exchange  30.  most  accepted  pain,  itonWd 

for  her.  willingly  undergone. 

435 


Troilus  and  Cresslda         act  m 

Dio.  This  shall  I  undertake ;  and  'tis  a  burden 
Which  I  am  proud  to  bear. 

\_Exeunt  Diomedes  and  Calchas. 

Enter  Achilles  and  Patroclus,  before  their 

tent. 

Ulysses.   Achilles  stands  i'   the  entrance  of  his 
tent: 
Please  it  our  general  to  pass  strangely  by  him, 
As  if  he  were  forgot ;  and,  princes  all,  40 

Lay  negligent  and  loose  regard  upon  him  : 
I  will  come  last.      'Tis  like  he  '11  question  me 
Why  such  unplausive  eyes  are  bent  on  him  : 
If  so,  I  have  derision  medicinable. 
To  use  between  your  strangeness  and  his  pride, 
Which  his  own  will  shall  have  desire  to  drink : 
It  may  do  good  :  pride  hath  no  other  glass 
To  show  itself  but  pride,  for  supple  knees  .  "'    '  *'     ,7 
Feed  arrogance  and  are  the  proud  man's  fees. 

Agam.  We  '11  execute  your  purpose,  and  put  on    50 
A  form  of  strangeness  as  we  pass  along  : 
So  do  each  lord,  and  either  greet  him  not, 
Or  else  disdainfully,  which  sliall  shake  him  more 
Than  if  not  look'd  on.      I  will  lead  the  way. 

Achil.   What,     comes     the    general     to     speak 
with  me  ? 
You  know  my  mind,   I  '11   fight   no   more   'gainst 
Troy. 

Agam.  What   says   Achilles  ?    would    he  aught 
with  us  ? 

Nest.  Would    you,    my    lord,    aught    with    the 
general  ? 

Achil.   No. 

Nest.   Nothing,  my  lord.  60 

43.  unplausive,  neglectful. 
44.    medicinable,  pronounced  med'cinable. 

436 


sc.  Ill  Troflus  and  Cressida 

Agatn.  The  better. 

\Exeunt  Agamemnon  and  A^estor. 

Achil.   Good  day,  good  day. 

Men.   How  do  you  ?  how  do  you  ?  \ExU. 

Achil.  What,  does  the  cuckold  scorn  me? 

Ajax.   How  now,  Patroclus  ! 

Achil.   Good  morrow,  Ajax. 

Ajax.   Ha  ? 

Achil.  Good  morrow. 

Ajax.  Ay,  and  good  next  day  too.  \Exit. 

Achil.  What  mean  these  fellows  ?     Know  they 
not  Achilles  ?  70 

Pair.  They  pass  by  strangely  :   they  were  used 
to  bend. 
To  send  their  smiles  before  them  to  Achilles ; 
To  come  as  humbly  as  they  used  to  creep 
To  holy  altars. 

Achil.  What,  am  I  poor  of  late  ? 

'Tis  certain,  greatness,  once  fall'n  out  with  fortune, 
Must  fall  out  with  men  too  :  what  the  declined  is 
He  shall  as  soon  read  in  the  eyes  of  others 
As  feel  in  his  own  fall ;  for  men,  like  butterflies, 
Show  not  their  mealy  wings  but  to  the  summer, 
And  not  a  man,  for  being  simply  man,  80 

Hath  any  honour,  but  honour  for  those  honours 
That  are  without  him,  as  place,  riches,  favour, 
Prizes  of  accident  as  oft  as  merit : 
Which  when  they  fall,  as  being  slippery  standers, 
The  love  that  lean'd  on  them  as  slippery  too. 
Do  one  pluck  down  another  and  together 
Die  in  the  fall.      But  'tis  not  so  with  me : 
Fortune  and  I  are  friends  :   I  do  enjoy 
At  ample  point  all  that  I  did  possess. 
Save  these  men's  looks;  who  do,  methinks,  find 
out 

89.   At  ample  point,  in  full  measure,  completely. 

437 


90 


Troilus  and  Cresslda         act  m 

Something  not  worth  in  me  such  rich  beholding 

As  they  have  often  given.      Here  is  Ulysses  : 

I  '11  interrupt  his  reading. 

How  now,  Ulysses  ! 

l7/yss.  Now,  great  Thetis'  son  !  .\ 

Ac/i//.  What  are  you  reading?  ^   Jf' 

l/Zjss.  A  strange  fellow  here   '^  r^-'' 

Writes  me  :   'That  man,  how  dearly  ever  parted,  "  '^'   '  "      ■' 

How  much  in  having,  or  without  or  in, 

Cannot  make  boast  to  have  that  which  he  hath,      ^y,ty, 
5lA.'^'  -      Nor  feels  not  what  he  owes,  but  by  reflection  ;  x'-^jT 

As  when  his  virtues  shining  upon  others  loo 

Heat  them  and  they  retort  that  heat  again 

To  the  first  giver.' 

ylcAi'/.  This  is  not  strange,  Ulysses. 

The  beauty  that  is  borne  here  in  the  face 

The  bearer  knows  not,  but  commends  itself  •      , ; 

To  others'  eyes ;  nor  doth  the  eye  itself,  v 

That  most  pure  spirit  of  sense,  behold  itself,  \ 

Not  going  from  itself;  but  eye  to  eye  opposed 

Salutes  each  other  with  each  other's  form  ; 

For  speculation  turns  not  to  itself, 

Till  it  hath  travell'd  and  is  mirror'd  there  no 

Where  it  may  see  itself.      This  is  not  strange  at 
all. 
Ulyss.   I  do  not  strain  at  the  position, — 

It  is  familiar, — but  at  the  author's  drift ; 

Who,  in  his  circumstance,  expressly  proves 

That  no  man  is  the  lord  of  any  thing, 

Though  in  and  of  him  there  be  much  consisting, 

Till  he  communicate  his  parts  to  others ; 

96.   dearly  parted,  a.mY)\y  en-  114.     circumstance,     detailed 

dowed.  explanation. 

109.   speculation,  \\s\on.  116.    However  substantial  his 

no.     mirrurd  ;     so    Singer  powers  and  possessions  may  be. 

MS.  and  Collier  MS.  for  Q  Ff  In  and  of  him  corresponds  to 

married,  the  distinction  drawn  in  v,  97. 

438 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Nor  doth  he  of  himself  know  them  for  aught 
Till  he  behold  them  form'd  in  the  applause 
Where  they  're  extended ;  who,  like  an  arch,  rever- 
berates I20 
The  voice  again,  or,  like  a  gate  of  steel 
Fronting  the  sun,  receives  and  renders  back 
His  figure  and  his  heat.      I  was  much  wrapt  in 

this  ; 
And  apprehended  here  immediately 
The  unknown  Ajax. 

Heavens,  what  a  man  is  there  !  a  very  horse, 
That  has  he  knows  not  what.      Nature,  what  things 

there  are 
Most  abject  in  regard  and  dear  in  use  ! 
What  things  again  most  dear  in  the  esteem 
And  poor  in  worth !    Now  shall  we  see  to-morrow —  130 
An  act  that  very  chance  doth  throw  upon  him — 
Ajax    renown'd.       O    heavens,    what    some    men 

do. 
While  some  men  leave  to  do  ! 
How  some  men  creep  in  skittish  fortune's  hall, 
Whiles  others  play  the  idiots  in  her  eyes  ! 
How  one  man  eats  into  another's  pride, 
While  pride  is  fasting  in  his  wantonness  ! 
To  see  these  Grecian  lords  ! — why,  even  already 
They  clap  the  lubber  Ajax  on  the  shoulder. 
As  if  his  foot  were  on  brave  Hector's  breast  140 

And  great  Troy  shrieking. 

Achil.   I  do  believe  it ;  for  they  pass'd  by  me 
As  misers  do  by  beggars,  neither  gave  to  me 
Good  word  nor  look  :  what,  are  my  deeds  forgot } 

120.   who,  i.e.  the  applause.  ej^i,  bask  foolishly  in  her  favour. 
125.    unknown,  \.e..  '  not  com-  137.    fasting,    i.e.    haughtily 

municating  his  parts  to  others.'  resting  on  his  laurels.      Fj  sub- 

128.    regard,  estimation.  stitutes  feasting,  which  is   only 

135.    play  the  idiots  in    her  superficially  plausible. 

439 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


ACT  III 


Ulyss.  Time  hath,  my  lord,  a  wallet  at  his  back, 
Wherein  he  puts  alms  for  oblivion, 
A  great-sized  monster  of  ingratitudes  : 
Those   scraps   are   good   deeds   past ;    which  are 

devour'd 
As  fast  as  they  are  made,  forgot  as  soon 
As  done  :  perseverance,  dear  my  lord,  150 

Keeps  honour  bright :  to  have  done  is  to  hang 
Quite  out  of  fashion,  like  a  rusty  mail 
In  monumental  mockery.     Take  the  instant  way; 
For  honour  travels  in  a  strait  so  narrow, 
Where  one  but  goes  abreast :  keep  then  the  path ; 
For  emulation  hath  a  thousand  sons 
That  one  by  one  pursue  :  if  you  give  way, 
Or  hedge  aside  from  the  direct  forthright,4X>^>«. 
Like  to  an  enter'd  tide,  they  all  rush  by 
And  leave  you  hindmost ;  160 

Or,  like  a  gallant  horse  fall'n  in  first  rank. 
Lie  there  for  pavement  to  the  abject  rear, 
O'er-run  and  trampled  on  :  then  what  they  do  in 

present. 
Though    less   than    yours  in    past,    must   o'ertop 

yours ; 
For  time  is  like  a  fashionable  host 
That  slightly  shakes  his  parting  guest  by  the  hand, 
And  with  his  arms  outstretch'd,  as  he  would  fly, 
Grasps  in  the  comer  :  welcome  ever  smiles, 
And  farewell  goes  out  sighing.     O,  let  not  virtue 

seek 
Remuneration  for  the  thing  it  was ;  170 

145.     Ti)ne  hath,  my  lord,  a  emptying. 
■wallet  at  his  back,    etc.       The  153.    7nonumental ,  memorial, 

ballad  of  Poor  Robin's  Dreatn  155.   one  but,  only  one. 

in    the    Bagford    collection    has  i^Z.  forthright,  s\.Ta.\ghX.p:\Xh. 

a  woodcut  of  Time  with  scythe  161-163.  Or.  .  .  trampled  on. 

and  hour-glass  and  a  wallet  at  This  comparison  is  found  only 

his    back,    which    a    friend    is  in  Ff. 

440 


SC.  Ill 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


For  beauty,  wit, 

High  birth,  vigour  of  bone,  desert  in  service, 
Love,  friendship,  charity,  are  subjects  all 
To  envious  and  calumniating  time. 
One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin, 
That  all  with  one  consent, praise  new-born  gawds. 
Though  they  are  made  and  moulded  of  things  past, 
And  give  to  dust  that  is  a  httle  gilt 
More  laud  than  gilt  o'er-dusted. 

The  present  eye  praises  the  present  object :  iSo 

Then  marvel  not,  thou  great  and  complete  man, 
That  all  the  Greeks  begin  to  worship  Ajax  ; 
Since  things  in  motion  sooner  catch  the  eye 
Than  what  not  stirs.     The  cry  went  once  on  thee, 
And  still  it  might,  and  yet  it  may  again, 
If  thou  wouldst  not  entomb  thyself  alive 
And  case  thy  reputation  in  thy  tent ; 
Whose  glorious  deeds,  but  in  these  fields  of  late. 
Made  emulous  missions  'mongst  the  gods  them- 
selves 
And  drave  great  Mars  to  faction. 

Achil.  Of  this  my  privacy  190 

I  have  strong  reasons. 

Ulyss.  But  'gainst  your  privacy 

The  reasons  are  more  potent  and  heroical : 
'Tis  known,  Achilles,  that  you  are  in  love 
With  one  of  Priam's  daughters. 

Achil.  Ha  !  known  ! 

Ulyss.   Is  that  a  wonder  ? 
The  providence  that 's  in  a  watchful  state 
Knows  almost  every  grain  of  Plutus'  gold, 

175.     One    touch     of    nature  189.   emulous,  envious. 
makes  tTie'-wTiote'Vjbrld  kin.     All 

men  are  related  in  the  posses-  197.      Plutus' .         Fj      reads 

sion  of  one  inborn  trait,  viz.  the  Plutoes,  which  Shakespeare  pos- 

readiness  to   be   caught   by  the  sibly  wrote.     In  Jul.  Cess.  iv.  3. 

illusion  of  novelty.  102  the  same  error  occurs. 

441 


Troilus  and  Cressida         act  m 


A. -5  / 


'    Finds  bottom  in  the  uncomprehensive  deeps, 
1  ,     Keeps  place  with  thought  and  almost,  like  the  gods, 

'^''  Does  thoughts  unveil  in  their  dumb  cradles.  200 

There  is  a  mystery — with  whom  relation 
Durst  never  meddle — in  the  soul  of  state ; 
Which  hath  an  operation  more  divine 
Than  breath  or  pen  can  give  expressure  to  : 
All  the  commerce  that  you  have  had  with  Troy 
As  perfectly  is  ours  as  yours,  my  lord ; 
And  better  would  it  fit  Achilles  much 
To  throw  down  Hector  than  Polyxena ; 
But  it  must  grieve  young  Pyrrhus  now  at  home. 
When  fame  shall  in  our  islands  sound  her  trump,     210 
And  all  the  Greekish  girls  shall  tripping  sing, 
*  Great  Hector's  sister  did  Achilles  win, 
But  our  great  Ajax  bravely  beat  down  him.' 
Farewell,  my  lord  :   I  as  your  lover  speak ; 
The  fool  slides  o'er  the  ice  that  you  should  break. 

[ExiV. 

Patr.  To  this  effect,  Achilles,  have  I  moved  you  : 
A  woman  impudent  and  mannish  grown 
Is  not  more  loathed  than  an  effeminate  man 
In  time  of  action.      I  stand  condemn'd  for  this ; 
They  think  my  little  stomach  to  the  war  zjo 

And  your  great  love  to  me  restrains  you  thus  : 
Sweet,  rouse  yourself;  and  the  weak  wanton  Cupid 
Shall  from  your  neck  unloose  his  amorous  fold, 
And,  like  a  dew-drop  from  the  lion's  mane, 
Be  shook  to  air. 

Achil.  Shall  Ajax  fight  with  Hector? 

Fair.  Ay,  and  perhaps  receive  much  honour  by 
him. 

198.     7inco7nprehensive,      be-  syllabic  :  crad-1-es. 
yond     the    reach    of     thought.  201.    relation,  report. 

Shelley  would  have  said  '  unim-  218.    an  effeminate   man    in 

aginable.'  time  of  action,  i.e.  araaneffemi- 

200.     cradles,     probably    tri-  nate  in  time,  etc. 

442 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Achil.  I  see  my  reputation  is  at  stake ; 
My  fame  is  shrewdly  gored. 

Pair.  O,  then,  beware  ; 

Those  wounds  heal  ill  that  men   do  give   them- 
selves : 
Omission  to  do  what  is  necessary 
Seals  a  commission  to  a  blank  of  danger ; 
And  danger,  like  an  ague,  subtly  taints 
Even  then  when  we  sit  idly  in  the  sun. 

Achil.   Go  call  Thersites  hither,  sweet  Patroclus  : 
I  '11  send  the  fool  to  Ajax  and  desire  him 
To  invite  the  Trojan  lords  after  the  combat 
To  see  us  here  unarm'd :   I  have  a  woman's  longing, 
An  appetite  that  I  am  sick  withal. 
To  see  great  Hector  in  his  weeds  of  peace, 
To  talk  with  him  and  to  behold  his  visage, 
Even  to  my  full  of  view. 


940 


E>iter  Thersites. 

A  labour  saved ! 

Ther.   A  wonder  ! 

Ac/n7.  What? 

T//er.  Ajax  goes  up  and  down  the  field,  asking 
for  himself. 

Ac/ii7.   How  so? 

T/ier.  He  must  fight  singly  to-morrow  with 
Hector,  and  is  so  prophetically  proud  of  an  heroical 
cudgelling  that  he  raves  in  saying  nothing. 

Achil,   How  can  that  be  ?  250 

Ther.  Why,  he  stalks  up  and  down  like  a  pea- 
cock,— a  stride  and  a  stand  :  ruminates  like  an 
hostess  that  hath  no  arithmetic  but  her  brain  to 
set  down  Iter  reckoning  :   bites  his  lip  with  a  politic 

231.    Seals  a  commisnon  to  a  '  all  that  danger  dares.' 
blank  of  danger,    gives   danger 

a  blank  charter,  warranted  with  254.  politic  regard,  knowing 

his  seal,  i.e.  exposes  himself  to  look. 

443 


Troilus  and  Cressida         actih 

regard,  as  who  should  say  'There  were  wit  in  this 
head,  an  'twould  out  ; '  and  so  there  is,  but  it  lies 
as  coldly  in  him  as  fire  in  a  flint,  which  will  not 
show  without  knocking.  The  man's  undone  for 
ever;  for  if  Hector  break  not  his  neck  i'  the 
combat,  he  '11  break  't  himself  in  vain-glory.  He  260 
knows  not  me  :  I  said  '  Good  morrow,  Ajax  ; ' 
and  he  replies  'Thanks,  Agamemnon.'  What 
think  you  of  this  man  that  takes  me  for  the 
general?  He's  grov.-n  a  very  land-fish,  language- 
less,  a  monster.  A  plague  of  opinion  !  a  man 
may  wear  it  on  both  sides,  like  a  leather  jerkin. 

Achil.   Thou  must  be  my  ambassador  to  him, 
Thersites. 

Ther.     Who,    I }    why,    he  '11   answer    nobody ; 
he    professes    not    answering :     speaking    is    for  270 
beggars ;    he  wears  his  tongue  in  's  arms.     I  will 
put  on  his  presence  :  let  Patroclus  make  demands 
to  me,  you  shall  see  the  pageant  of  Ajax.    , 

Achil.  To  him,  Patroclus  :  tell  him  I  humbly 
desire  the  valiant  Ajax  to  invite  the  most  valorous 
Hector  to  come  unarmed  to  my  tent,  and  to  pro- 
cure safe-conduct  for  his  person  of  the  magnani- 
mous and  most  illustrious  six-or-seven-times- 
honoured  captain-general  of  the  Grecian  army, 
Agamemnon,  et  cetera.      Do  this.  280 

Pair.  Jove  bless  great  Ajax  ! 

Thet:   Hum  ! 

Pair.   I  come  from  the  worthy  Achilles, — 

Ther.   Ha! 

Patr.  Who  most  humbly  desires  you  to  invite 
Hector  to  his  tent, — 

Ther.   Hum  1 

Patr.     And    to    procure    safe -conduct    from 
Agamemnon. 

Ther.  Agamemnon !  290 

444 


Ill 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


Pair.   Ay,  my  lord. 

Ther.   Ha! 

Pair.  What  say  you  to  't  ? 

Titer.  God  b'  \vi'  you,  with  all  my  heart. 

Pair.   Your  answer,  sir. 

Ther.  If  to-morrow  be  a  fair  day,  by  eleven 
o'clock  it  will  go  one  way  or  other  :  howsoever, 
he  shall  pay  for  me  ere  he  has  me. 

Pair.   Your  answer,  sir. 

Ther.  Fare  you  well,  with  all  my  heart.  300 

Achil.  Why,  but  he  is  not  in  this  tune,  is  he  ? 

Ther.  No,  but  he's  out  o'  tune  thus.  What 
music  will  be  in  him  when  Hector  has  knocked 
out  his  brains,  I  know  not ;  but,  I  am  sure,  none, 
unless  the  fiddler  Apollo  get  his  sinews  to  make 
catlines  on. 

Achil.  Come,  thou  shalt  bear  a  letter  to  him 
straight. 

Ther.  Let  me  bear  another  to  his  horse ;  for 
that 's  the  more  capable  creature.  310 

Achil.    My   mind   is  troubled,   like   a   fountain 
stirr'd ; 
And  I  myself  see  not  the  bottom  of  it. 

\Exeunt  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Ther.  Would  the  fountain  of  your  mind  were 
clear  again,  that  I  might  water  an  ass  at  it !  I 
had  rather  be  a  tick  in  a  sheep  than  such  a  valiant 
ignorance.  \Exit. 

306,  catlings,  catgut.  310.  capable,  intelligent. 


445 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.      Troy.     A  street. 

Enter^  from  one  side.,  ^neas,  and  Servant  with  a 
torch;  from  the  other.,  Paris,  Deiphobus,  An- 
TENOR,  DiOMEDES,  and  others,  with  torches. 

Par.   See,  ho  !  who  is  that  there  ? 

Dei.  It  is  the  Lord  ^neas. 

yEfie.   Is  the  prince  there  in  person  ?  ^^'^'^*^ ' 

Had  I  so  good  occasion  to  lie  long 
As  you,  Prince  Paris,  nothing  but  heavenly  busi- 
ness 
Should  rob  my  bed-mate  of  my  company. 

Dio.  That 's  my  mind  too.     Good  morrow,  Lord 
^neas. 

Par.      A    valiant    Greek,     ^neas, — take    his 
hand, — 
Witness  the  process  of  your  speech,  wherein 
You  told  how  Diomed,  a  whole  week  by  days, 
Did  haunt  you  in  the  field. 

^ne.  Health  to  you,  valiant  sir,    w 

During  all  question  of  the  gentle  truce  ; 
But  when  I  meet  you  arm'd,  as  black  defiance 
As  heart  can  think  or  courage  execute. 

Z>io.   The  one  and  other  Diomed  embraces. 
Our  bloods  are  now  in  calm  ;  and,  so  long,  health  ! 
But  when  contention  and  occasion  meet, 
By  Jove,  I  '11  play  the  hunter  for  thy  life 
With  all  my  force,  pursuit  and  policy. 

^ne.  And  thou  shalt  hunt    a    lion,  that  will 
fly 

446 


SC.  I 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


With  his  face  backward.      In  humane  gentleness,      20 

Welcome  to  Troy  !  now,  by  Anchises'  life, 

Welcome,  indeed  !     By  Venus'  hand  I  swear, 

No  man  alive  can  love  in  such  a  sort 

The  thing  he  means  to  kill  more  excellently. 

Dio.   We  sympathise :  Jove,  let  ^neas  live. 
If  to  my  sword  his  fate  be  not  the  glory, 
A  thousand  complete  courses  of  the  sun  ! 
But,  in  mine  emulous  honour,  let  him  die, 
With  every  joint  a  wound,  and  that  to-morrow  ! 

yEne.  We  know  each  other  well.  30 

Dio.  We  do;  and  long  to  know  each  other  worse. 

Par.  This  is  the  most  despiteful  gentle  greeting. 
The  noblest  hateful  love,  that  e'er  I  heard  of. 
What  business,  lord,  so  early  ? 

^?u.   I  was  sent  for  to  the  king ;  but  why,  I 
know  not. 

Par.    His  purpose  meets  you :    'twas  to  bring 
this  Greek 
To  Calchas'  house,  and  there  to  render  him. 
For  the  enfreed  Antenor,  the  fair  Cressid  : 
Let 's  have  your  company,  or,  if  you  please. 

Haste  there  before  us  :  I  constantly  do  think —        40  J^^LA/^'*yX/-^^ 
Or  rather,  call  my  thought  a  certain  knowledge — 
My  brother  Troilus  lodges  there  to-night : 
Rouse  him  and  give  him  note  of  our  approach, 
With  the  whole  quality  wherefore  :  I  fear 
We  shall  be  much  unwelcome. 

^■Ene.  That  I  assure  you  : 

Troilus  had  rather  Troy  were  borne  to  Greece 
Than  Cressid  borne  from  Troy. 

Par.  There  is  no  help  ; 

The  bitter  disposition  of  the  time 
Will  have  it  so.     On,  lord  ;  we  '11  follow  you. 

33.   hateful,  full  of  hate. 
40.   constantly  do  think,  am  f.rmly  persuaded. 

447 


1 ^ 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

/Ene.  Good  morrow,  all.       \Exit  with  Servant.    50 
Par.    And  tell   me,    noble   Diomed,  faith,   tell 
me  true. 
Even  in  the  soul  of  sound  good-fellowship, 
Who,  in  your  thoughts,  merits  fair  Helen  best, 
Myself  or  Menelaus  ? 

Dio.  Both  alike : 

He  merits  well  to  have  her,  that  doth  seek  her, 
Not  making  any  scruple  of  her  soilure, 
With  such  a  hell  of  pain  and  world  of  charge. 
And  you  as  well  to  keep  her,  that  defend  her, 
Not  palating  the  taste  of  her  dishonour. 
With  such  a  costly  loss  of  wealth  and  friends  :  60 

He,  like  a  puling  cuckold,  would  drink  up 
The  lees  and  dregs  of  a  flat  tamed  piece ; 
You,  like  a  lecher,  out  of  whorish  loins 
Are  pleased  to  breed  out  your  inheritors  : 
Both  merits  poised,  each  weighs  nor  less  nor  more; 
But  he  as  he,  the  heavier  for  a  whore. 

Par.  You  are  too  bitter  to  your  countrywoman, 
Dio.    She 's  bitter  to   her   country  :    hear  me, 
Paris  : 
For  every  false  drop  in  her  bawdy  veins 
A  Grecian's  life  hath  sunk  ;  for  every  scruple  70 

Of  her  contaminated  carrion  weight, 
A  Trojan  hath  been  slain  :  since  she  could  speak, 
She  hath  not  given  so  many  good  words  breath 
As  for  her  Greeks  and  Trojans  suffer'd  death. 
Par.   Fair  Diomed,  you  do  as  chapmen  do, 
Dispraise  the  thing  that  you  desire  to  buy  : 
But  we  in  silence  hold  this  virtue  well, 
We  'U  but  commend  what  we  intend  to  sell. 
Here  lies  our  way.  \Exeunt. 

59.  palating,  perceiving.  62.  piece,  creature. 

448 


sc.  II  Troilus  and  Cressida 


Scene  II.      The  same.      Court  of  Pandarui 
^°'''''  AJuw 

Enter  Troilus  a?id  Cressida.  '-^  -^'' 

Tro.   Dear,  trouble  not  yourself:    the  morn  is 
cold. 

Cres.     Then,    sweet    my    lord,    I  '11    call    mine 
uncle  down ; 
He  shall  unbolt  the  gates. 

Tro.  Trouble  him  not ; 

To  bed,  to  bed  :  sleep  kill  those  pretty  eyes, 
And  give  as  soft  attachment  to  thy  senses 
As  infants'  empty  of  all  thought ! 

Cres.  Good  morrow,  then. 

Tro.   I  prithee  now,  to  bed. 

Cres.  Are  you  a-weary  of  me  ? 

Tro.  O  Cressida  !  but  that  the  busy  day. 
Waked  by  the  lark,  hath  roused  the  ribald  crows, 
And  dreaming  night  will  hide  our  joys  no  longer,     lo 
I  would  not  from  thee. 

Cres.  Night  hath  been  too  brief. 

Tro.  Beshrew  the  witch  !  with  venomous  wights 
she  stays 
As  tediously  as  hell,  but  flies  the  grasps  of  love 
With  wings  more  momentary-swift  than  thought. 
You  will  catch  cold,  and  curse  me. 

Cres.  Prithee,  tarry : 

You  men  will  never  tarry. 
O  foolish  Cressid  !  I  might  have  still  held  off. 
And  then  you  would  have  tarried.      Hark !   there 's 
one  up. 

5-  attachment,  arrest,  seizure.  12.    venomous  -wights,    those 

.,    , ,       .        ,  possessed  with  bitter  and  malier- 

9.  r.3«/^.  noisy,  obstreperous.       ^^^^   ^^^^-^^   (^   distinguished 

10.  joys.     So  Q.      Ff  eyes.  from  love). 

VOL.  Ill  449  2  G 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

Pan.  [  Within']  What,  's  all  the  doors  open  here  ? 
Tro.   It  is  your  uncle.  20 

Cres.    A  pestilence  on  him  !    now  will   he   be 
mocking  : 
I  shall  have  such  a  life  ! 


Enter  Pandarus. 

Fan.  How  now,  how  now !  how  go  maiden- 
heads ?  Here,  you  maid !  where 's  my  cousin 
Cressid  ? 

Cres.    Go  hang  yourself,  you  naughty  mocking 
uncle  ! 
You  bring  me  to  do,  and  then  you  flout  me  too. 

Fan.  To  do  what?  to  do  what?  let  her  say 
what :  what  have  I  brought  you  to  do  ? 

Cres.   Come,  come,  beshrew  your  heart !  you  '11 
ne'er  be  good, 
Nor  suffer  others. 

Fan.  Ha,  ha !  Alas,  poor  wretch  !  ah,  poor 
capocchia  !  hast  not  slept  to-night  ?  woukl  he  not, 
a  naughty  man,  let  it  sleep  ?  a  bugbear  take  him  ! 

Cres.    Did  not  I  tell   you  ?      Would   he  were 
knock'd  i'  the  head  !  [Knockifig  within. 

Who  's  that  at  door  ?  good  uncle,  go  and  see. 
My  lord,  come  you  again  into  my  chamber : 
You  smile  and  mock  me,  as  if  I  meant  naughtily. 

Tro.   Ha,  ha  ! 

Cres.    Come,  you  are  deceived,   I  think  of  no 
such  thing.  \_Knocking  7vithin. 

How  earnestly  they  knock  !     Pray  you,  come  in  : 
I  would  not  for  half  Troy  have  you  seen  here. 

\Exeunt  Troilus  and  Cressida. 

Fan.    Who 's  there  ?    what 's   the  matter  ?    will 


30 


40 


33.   capocchia,   fool;    a  femi-      simpleton,  fool.     In  both  Q  and 
nine  form  of  Ital.  capocchio,  dolt,       Ff  it  is  mutilated  to  chipochia.. 


sc.  n  Troilus  and  Cressida 

you  beat  down  the  door  ?     How  now  !  what 's  the 
matter  ? 

Enter  ^neas. 

^ne.  Good  morrow,  lord,  good  morrow. 

Pan.  Who  's  there  ?  my  Lord  yEneas  !     By  my 
troth, 
I  knew  you  not :  what  news  with  you  so  early  ? 

yEne.   Is  not  Prince  Troilus  here  ? 

Pan.  Here  !  what  should  he  do  here  ?  5° 

jEne.    Come,  he  is  here,  my  lord ;  do  not  deny 
him  : 
It  doth  import  him  much  to  speak  with  me. 

Pan.  Is  he  here,  say  you  ?  'tis  more  than  I 
know,  I  '11  be  sworn  :  for  my  own  part,  I  came  in 
late.     What  should  he  do  here  ? 

j^ne.  Who  ! — nay,  then  :  come,  come,  you  '11 
do  him  wrong  ere  you  're  ware :  you  '11  be  so 
true  to  him,  to  be  false  to  him  :  do  not  you  know 
of  him,  but  yet  go  fetch  him  hither ;  go. 

Re-enter  Troilus. 

Tro.   How  now  !  what 's  the  matter  ?  te 

yEne.   My  lord,  I  scarce  have  leisure  to  salute 
you. 
My  matter  is  so  rash  :  there  is  at  hand 
Paris  your  brother,  and  Deiphobus, 
The  Grecian  Diomed,  and  our  Antenor 
Deliver'd  to  us ;  and  for  him  forthwith, 
Ere  the  first  sacrifice,  within  this  hour, 
We  must  give  up  to  Diomedes'  hand 
The  Lady  Cressida. 

Tro.     '  Is  it  so  concluded? 

^ne.     By    Priam    and    the    general    state   of 
Troy: 

69.   state,  council,  assembled  chiefs. 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

They  are  at  hand  and  ready  to  effect  it.  70 

Tro.   How  my  achievements  mock  me  ! 

I  will  go  meet  them  :  and,  my  Lord  ^neas, 

We  met  by  chance  ;  you  did  not  find  me  here. 
^7ie.    Good,    good,    my   lord;    the   secrets   of 
nature 

Have  not  more  gift  in  taciturnity. 

[Exeunt  Troilus  and  jEneas. 
Fan.    Is  't  possible  ?    no  sooner  got  but  lost  ? 

The  devil  take  Antenor  !    the   young  prince  will 

go  mad  :   a  plague  upon  Antenor  !    I  would  they 

had  broke  's  neck  ! 

Re-enter  Cressida. 

Cres.     How    now !     what 's    the   matter  ?    who    80 
was  here  ? 

Fan.  Ah,  ah  ! 

Cres.  Why  sigh  you  so  profoundly?  where 's 
my  lord  ?  gone !  Tell  me,  sweet  uncle,  what 's 
the  matter? 

Fan.  Would  I  were  as  deep  under  the  earth 
as  I  am  above  ! 

Cres.   O  the  gods  !  what 's  the  matter  ? 

Fan.   Prithee,  get  thee  in  :    would  thou  hadst 
ne'er  been  born  !     I  knew  thou  wouldst   be   his    90 
death.       O,   poor    gentleman !       A   plague    upon 
Antenor  ! 

Cres.  Good  uncle,  I  beseech  you,  on  my 
knees  I  beseech  you,  what 's  the  matter  ? 

Fan.  Thou  must  be  gone,  wench,  thou  must 
be  gone ;  thou  art  changed  for  Antenor :  thou 
must  to  thy  father,  and  be  gone  from  Troilus: 
'twill  be  his  death ;  'twill  be  his  bane ;  he  cannot 
bear  it. 

74.   secrets  (trisyllabic  :  sec-r-      burlesque  touch  :   ■  the  secrets  d 
eu).     The  Q  here  introduces  a      neighbor  Pandar." 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Cres.  O  you  immortal  gods  !     I  will  not  go. 
Pati.  Thou  must. 

Cres.    I   will    not,    uncle :    I    have    forgot    my 
father ; 
I  know  no  touch  of  consanguinity  ; 
No  kin,  no  love,  no  blood,  no  soul  so  near  me 
As  the  sweet  Troilus.     O  you  gods  divine  ! 
Make    Cressid's    name   the   very   crown   of   false- 
hood, 
If  ever    she    leave   Troilus !       Time,    force,   and 

death. 
Do  to  this  body  what  extremes  you  can ; 
But  the  strong  base  and  building  of  my  love 
Is  as  the  very  centre  of  the  earth, 
Drawing  all  things  to  it.      I  '11  go  in  and  weep, — 
Pan.   Do,  do. 

Cres.     Tear    my   bright    hair   and    scratch   my 
praised  cheeks. 
Crack  my  clear  voice  with   sobs   and   break   my 

heart 
With  sounding  Troilus.      I  will  not  go  from  Troy. 

\Exeunt. 

Scene  III.   The  same.     Street  before  Pandarus^ 

house. 

Enter  Paris,  Troilus,  ^neas,  Deiphobus, 
Antenor,  arid  Diomedes. 

Par.      It    is    great    morning,    and    the    hour 
prefix'd 

no,  III.  Is  as  the  very  centre  part     thereof     moveth      kindly 

of  the  earth,  drawing  all  things  to  [naturally]  towards    the  middle 

it.     This  Lelief  was  current  long  point." — Trans.    New   Sh.   Soc. 

before    Newton.       Cf.    Batman  1877-79. 
upon  Bartholomew  :    '  Tho'  the 

whole  Earth  be  sound  and  sad  i.  great  morning,  broad  day, 

in  substance  thereof,   yet  every  grand  jour. 

453 


-ii 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

Of  her  delivery  to  this  valiant  Greek 
Comes  fast  upon.      Good  my  brother  Troilus, 
Tell  you  the  lady  what  she  is  to  do, 
And  haste  her  to  the  purpose. 

Tro.  Walk  into  her  house  ; 

I  '11  bring  her  to  the  Grecian  presently : 
And  to  his  hand  when  I  deliver  her, 
Think  it  an  altar,  and  thy  brother  Troilus 
A  priest  there  offering  to  it  his  own  heart. 

\Exit. 

Par.   I  know  what  'tis  to  love  ;  xo 

And  would,  as  I  shall  pity,  I  could  help ! 
Please  you  walk  in,  my  lords.  \Exeunt. 


Scene  IV.      The  same.     Pandarus'  house. 

Enter  Pandarus  and  Cressida. 

Pan.   Be  moderate,  be  moderate. 

Cres.   Why  tell  you  me  of  moderation  ? 
The  grief  is  fine,  full,  perfect,  that  I  taste, 
And  violenteth  in  a  sense  as  strong 
As  that  which  causeth  it :  how  can  I  moderate  it  ? 
If  I  could  temporise  with  my  affection. 
Or  brew  it  to  a  weak  and  colder  palate, 
The  like  allayment  could  I  give  my  grief: 
My  love  admits  no  qualifying  dross ; 
No  more  my  grief,  in  such  a  precious  loss.  lo 

Pan,  Here,  here,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Troilus. 
Ah,  sweet  ducks  ! 

Cres.   O  Troilus  !  Troilus  !         [Embracing  him. 

4.   violenteth,  rages  (with  the      less    in    a   sense   as    strong    as 
same  intensity  as  the  love  that      that  |  which,'  etc. 
causes  it).     Ff  have  :    '  And  no 

454 


sc.  rv  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Pan.  What  a  pair  of  spectacles  is  here !  Let 
me  embrace  too.  'O  heart,'  as  the  goodly  say- 
ing is, 

* O  heart,  heavy  heart, 

Why  sigh'st  thou  without  breaking?' 
where  he  answers  again, 

'  Because  thou  canst  not  ease  thy  smart         20 
By  friendship  nor  by  speaking.' 
There   was  never  a   truer  rhyme.       Let   us   cast 
away  nothing,   for  we  may  live  to  have  need  of 
such  a  verse  :    we  see  it,  we  see  it.      How  now, 
lambs  ? 

Tro.     Cressid,    I    love    thee    in    so    strain'd   a 
purity, 
That  the  bless'd  gods,  as  angry  with  my  fancy, 
More  bright  in  zeal  than  the  devotion  which 
Cold  lips  blow  to  their  deities,  take  thee  from  me. 

Cres.  Have  the  gods  envy  ?  30 

Pan.   Ay,  ay,  ay,  ay ;  'tis  too  plain  a  case. 

Cres.    And    is   it    true    that    I    must    go   from 
Troy  ? 

Tro.  A  hateful  truth. 

Cres.  What,  and  from  Troilus  too  ? 

Tro.   From  Troy  and  Troilus. 

Cres.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Tro.  And  suddenly  ;  where  injury  of  chance 
Puts  back  leave-taking,  justles  roughly  by 
All  time  of  pause,  rudely  beguiles  our  hps 
Of  all  rejoindure,  forcibly  prevents 
Our  lock'd  embrasures,  strangles  our  dear  vows 
Even  in  the  birth  of  our  own  labouring  breath :         40 
We  two,  that  with  so  many  thousand  sighs 
Did  buy  each  other,  must  poorly  sell  ourselves 
With  the  rude  brevity  and  discharge  of  one. 

26.   strain' d  a  purity  ;  cf.  the  38.  rf/cz«i/«re,  meeting  again. 

'  reputed '  in  iii.  2.  23.  39.   embrasures,  embraces. 

455 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

Injurious  time  now  with  a  robber's  haste 
Crams  his  rich  thievery  up,  he  knows  not  how  : 
As  many  farewells  as  be  stars  in  heaven, 
With    distinct    breath    and    consign'd    kisses    to 

them, 
He  fumbles  up  into  a  loose  adieu, 
And  scants  us  with  a  single  famish'd  kiss, 
Distasted  with  the  salt  of  broken  tears.  so 

^ne.  [  Withvi\  My  lord,  is  the  lady  ready  ? 
Tro.     Hark !     you    are    call'd :     some    say    the 
Genius  so 
Cries  *  come '  to  him  that  instantly  must  die. 
Bid  them  have  patience ;  she  shall  come  anon.  -J^"^' 

Pan.    Where   are   my  tears?    rain,  to  lay  this 
wind,  or  my  heart  will  be  blown  up  by  the  root. 

\Exit. 
Cres.  I  must  then  to  the  Grecians  ? 
Tro.  No  remedy. 

Cres.     A    woful    Cressid    'mongst    the    merry 
Greeks  ! 
When  shall  we  see  again  ? 

Tro.  Hear  me,  my  love  :    be  thou  but  true  of 

heart, —  60 

Cres.    I  true !    how  now !    what  wicked   deem 

is  this  ?  ^.'^L^'i- 

Tro.   Nay,  we  must  use  expostulation  kindly, 
For  it  is  parting  from  us : 
I  speak  not  '  be  thou  true,'  as  fearing  thee. 
For  I  will  throw  my  glove  to  Death  himself, 

47.   consigned  kisses  to  them,  '  Genius  '  is  the  attendant  spirit 

i.e.  kisses  consigned  to  them.  or  dcsmon  of  a  man,  a  concep- 

52.  some  say  the   Genius  so,  tion  which  emerges  in    Shake- 

etc.      Thus  the   Ff.     The  Q  is  speare's  work  of  all  periods.    Cf. 

here  inferior,  but  perhaps  repre-  '  One  of  these  men  is  Genius  to 

sents  an  earlier  Shakespearean  the  other,'  Com.  of  Err.  v.  332. 
version  :    '  some  say  the  Genius  59.   see,  see  each  other. 

I   cries    so    to  him,"    etc.      The  61.   deem,  supposition. 


sc.  IV  Trollus  and  Cressida 

That  there  's  no  maculation  in  thy  heart : 
But  '  be  thou  true,'  say  I,  to  fashion  in 
My  sequent  protestation ;  be  thou  true, 
And  I  will  see  thee. 

Cres.    O,    you   shall   be   exposed,  my  lord,    to 
dangers  70 

As  infinite  as  imminent !  but  I  '11  be  true. 

Tro.   And  I  '11  grow  friend  with  danger.     Wear 
this  sleeve. 

Cres.     And    you    this    glove.      When    shall    I 
see  you  ? 

Tro.   I  will  corrupt  the  Grecian  sentinels, 
To  give  thee  nightly  visitation. 
But  yet  be  true. 

Cres.  O  heavens !   '  be  true '  again  ! 

Tro.   Hear  why  I  speak  it,  love  : 
The  Grecian  youths  are  full  of  quality ; 
They  're    loving,    well    composed    with    gifts    of 

nature, 
Flowing  and  swelling  o'er  with  arts  and  exercise :      80 
How  novelty  may  move,  and  parts  with  person, 
Alas,  a  kind  of  godly  jealousy — 
Which,  I  beseech  you,  call  a  virtuous  sin — 
Makes  me  afeard. 

Cres.  O  heavens  !  you  love  me  not. 

Tro.   Die  I  a  villain,  then  1 
In  this  I  do  not  call  your  faith  in  question 
So  mainly  as  my  merit :  I  cannot  sing. 
Nor  heel  the  high  lavolt,  nor  sweeten  talk, 

67.   to  fashion  in  my  sequent  reading  in  the  text  is  Staunton's. 
pratestation.      'Be  thou  true '  is  g^    ^^^  ^amb.  edd.  suppose 

not   an   injunction,    but    merely  ^/^«„w  to  have  been  a  marginal 

the  mtroductary  clause  m  which  correction   for    swelling,    which 

his    subsequent    declaration   '  I  ^^^       ^^^^^    ^^   P     ^      ^j^^^j^^ 

will  see  thee  _  is  ivrapped.  ^^^^^  ^^  ^^^  li^^_ 

79.    Q  omits  this  verse  ;    Fj 
gives  :    '  Their  loving  well  com-  88.   lavclt,  a  dance  involving 

pos'd,  with  guift  of  nature.'   The  high  springs. 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

Nor  play  at  subtle  games ;  fair  virtues  all, 

To   which   the    Grecians    are    most    prompt    and 

pregnant :  90 

But  I  can  tell  that  in  each  grace  of  these 
There  lurks  a  still  and  dumb-discoursive  devil 
That  tempts  most  cunningly  :  but  be  not  tempted. 

Cres.    Do  you  think  I  will  ? 

Tro.   No. 
But  something  may  be  done  that  we  will  not : 
And  sometimes  we  are  devils  to  ourselves, 
When  we  will  tempt  the  frailty  of  our  powers, 
Presuming  on  their  changeful  potency. 

yEne.   [  \Vithiii\   Nay,  good  my  lord, — 
.  Tro.  Come,  kiss ;  and  let  us  part.  100 

Par.   [  Withiii\  Brother  Troilus  ! 

Tro.  Good  brother,  come  you  hither ; 

And  bring  ^neas  and  the  Grecian  with  you. 

Cres.   My  lord,  will  you  be  true? 

Tro.  Who,  I  ?  alas,  it  is  my  vice,  my  fault : 
Whiles  others  fish  with  craft  for  great  opinion, 
I  with  great  truth  catch  mere  simplicity ; 
Whilst    some    with     cunning    gild    their    copper 

crowns. 
With  truth  and  plainness  I  do  wear  mine  bare. 
Fear  not  my  truth  :  the  moral  of  my  wit 
Is  '  plain  and  true ; '  there  's  all  the  reach  of  it.         no 

Enter  .^neas,  Paris,  Antenor,  Deiphobus, 
and  DiOMEDES. 

Welcome,  Sir  Diomed  !  here  is  the  lady 

90.  pregnant,  ready,  apt.  but  that  which  makes  our  pre- 
99.  changeful  potency.  Singer  sumption  treacherous  :  '  their 
confidently  altered  the  adjective  potency,  changeful  as  it  is.'  It 
to  unchangeful.  It  may  be  well,  well  illustrates  the  swift  cross- 
therefore,  to  note  that  it  ex-  and  counter  -  movements  of 
presses,  like  frailty,  not  the  Shakespeare's  mature  thought, 
quality  on  which  we  '  presume,' 

458 


sc.  IV  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Which  for  Antenor  we  deliver  you : 
At  the  port,  lord,  I  '11  give  her  to  thy  hand ; 
And  by  the  way  possess  thee  what  she  is. 
Entreat  her  fair ;  and,  by  my  soul,  fair  Greek, 
If  e'er  thou  stand  at  mercy  of  my  sword, 
Name  Cressid,  and  thy  life  shall  be  as  safe 
As  Priam  is  in  Ilion. 

Dio.  Fair  Lady  Cressid, 

So    please    you,    save    the    thanks    this    prince 

expects  : 
The  lustre  in  your  eye,  heaven  in  your  cheek,  im 

Pleads  your  fair  usage ;  and  to  Diomed 
You  shall  be  mistress,  and  command  him  wholly. 

Tro.     Grecian,    thou    dost    not    use    me    cour- 
teously. 
To  shame  the  zeal  of  my  petition  to  thee 
In  praising  her  :  I  tell  thee,  lord  of  Greece, 
She  is  as  far  high-soaring  o'er  thy  praises 
As  thou  unworthy  to  be  call'd  her  servant. 
I  charge  thee  use  her  well,  even  for  my  charge  \ 
For,  by  the  dreadful  Pluto,  if  thou  dost  not. 
Though  the  great  bulk  Achilles  be  thy  guard,  130 

I  '11  cut  thy  throat. 

Dio.  O,  be  not  moved,  Prince  Troilus : 

Let  me  be  privileged  by  my  place  and  message, 
To  be  a  speaker  free  ;  when  I  am  hence, 
I  '11  answer  to  my  lust :  and  know  you,  lord, 
I  '11  nothing  do  on  charge  :  to  her  own  worth 
She  shall  be  prized  ;  but  that  you  say  '  be 't  so,' 
I  '11  speak  it  in  my  spirit  and  honour,  '  no.' 

Tro.   Come,  to  the  port.     I  '11  tell  thee,  Diomed, 
This  brave  shall  oft  make  thee  to  hide  thy  head. 
Lady,  give  me  your  hand,  and,  as  we  walk,  140 

113.  port,  gate  of  Troy.  134.    to  viy  lust,  at  my  plea- 

sure. 

114.  possess,  inform.  135.   on  charge,  at  command, 

459 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

To  our  own  selves  bend  we  our  needful  talk. 

\Exeiint  Troilus,  Cressida,  and  Diomedes. 

\_Trum-pet  within. 
Par.   Hark  !  Hector's  trumpet. 
Aine.  How  have  we  spent  this  morning  ! 

The  prince  must  think  me  tardy  and  remiss, 
That  swore  to  ride  before  him  to  the  field. 

Far.   'Tis  Troilus'  fault :  come,  come,  to  field 

with  him. 
Dei.   Let  us  make  ready  straight. 
.^ne.  Yea,  with  a  bridegroom's  fresh  alacrity, 
Let  us  address  to  tend  on  Hector's  heels  : 
The  glory  of  our  Troy  doth  this  day  lie 
On  his  fair  worth  and  single  chivalry.        [^Exeunt   150 


Scene  V.      The  Grecian  camp.     Lists  set  out. 

Enter  AjAX,  armed;  Agamemnon,  Achilles, 
Patroclus,  Menelaus,  Ulysses,  Nestor, 
and  others. 

Agam.    Here    art    thou    in    appointment  fresh 
and  fair, 
Anticipating  time  with  starting  courage. 
Give  with  thy  trumpet  a  loud  note  to  Troy, 
Thou  dreadful  Ajax ;  that  the  appalled  air 
May  pierce  the  head  of  the  great  combatant 
And  hale  him  hither. 

Ajax.  Thou,  trumpet,  there  's  my  purse. 

Now  crack  thy  lungs,  and  split  thy  brazen  pipe : , 
Blow,  villain,  till  thy  sphered  bias  cheeky  ,  ."^Da^ 

146-150.    Let  us  make  ready  6.   trumpet,  trumpeter. 

.  .  .  chivalry.      These  lines  are  8.  bias,  protuberant.    Strictly, 

not  in  Q.  the  word  implies  that  the  cheek 

1.  appointment,  equipment.  was  not  merely   'sphered,'   but 

2.  starting,  forward-darting.  swollen  beyond  the  sphere,  liko 

460 


sc.  V  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Outswell  the  colic  of  pufTd  Aquilon  : 

Come,  stretch  thy  chest,  and  let  thy  eyes  spout 

blood ;  lo 

Thou  blow'st  for  Hector.  \Tru7?ipet  soimds. 

Ulyss.   No  trumpet  answers. 

Achil.  'Tis  but  early  days. 

Agam.    Is    not    yond    Diomed,    with    Calchas' 
daughter  ? 

Ulyss.  'Tis  he,  I  ken  the  manner  of  his  gait ; 
He  rises  on  the  toe  :   that  spirit  of  his 
In  aspiration  lifts  him  from  the  earth. 

Enter  Diomedes,  with  Cressida. 

Agatn.   Is  this  the  Lady  Cressid  ? 

Dio.  Even  she. 

Agam.    Most   dearly  welcome    to   the   Greeks, 
sweet  lady. 

Nest.   Our  general  doth  salute  you  with  a  kiss. 

Ulyss.  Yet  is  the  kindness  but  particular ;  20 

'Twere  better  she  were  kiss'd  in  general. 

Nest.  And  very  courtly  counsel :  I  '11  begin. 
So  much  for  Nestor. 

Achil.     I  '11   take   that    winter    from   your   lips, 
fair  lady : 
Achilles  bids  you  welcome. 

Men.   I  had  good  argument  for  kissing  once.    \>'-<^^ 

Fatr.   But  that 's  no  argument  for  kissing  now ; 
For  thus  popp'd  Paris  in  his  hardiment. 
And  parted  thus  you  and  your  argument. 

the  weighted  side  of  a  loaded  14.   ken,  recognise  in  the  dis- 

or   '  biassed '   bowl.      But   it   is  tance. 

here  transferred  from  the  extra-  20.  particular,  individual. 

spherical  bowl  to  the  cheek,  the  26,     27.     argument,    reason, 

natural  contour    of  which    was  Patroclus  plays  upon  the  word 

already    '  biassed  '    when   it  be-  in  the  sense  of  subject,  object,  i.  e. 

came  sphered.  Helen   as  the  recipient   of  his 

9.  Aquilon,  the  North  wind.  kisses. 

461 


Troilus  and  Cressida  activ 

U/yss.    O   deadly  gall,    and    theme  of  all  our 
scorns !  30 

For  which  we  lose  our  heads  to  gild  his  horns. 
Pafr.     The    first    was     Menelaus'    kiss;    this, 
mine  : 
Patroclus  kisses  you. 

Afen.  O,  this  is  trim  ! 

J^afr.   Paris  and  I  kiss  evermore  for  him, 
Afen.    I  '11  have   my  kiss,   sir.      Lady,  by  your 

leave. 
Cres.  In  kissing,  do  you  render  or  receive  ? 
J^atr.   Both  take  and  give. 

Cres.  I  '11  make  my  match  to  live. 

The  kiss  you  take  is  better  than  you  give ; 
Therefore  no  kiss. 

Men.    I  '11  give  you  boot,   I  '11  give  you  three 

for  one.  40 

Cres.  You  're  an  odd  man ;  give  even,  or  give 

none. 
Jlfen.   An  odd  man,  lady  !  every  man  is  odd. 
Cres.    No,    Paris    is    not;    for   you    know    'tis 
true, 
That  you  are  odd,  and  he  is  even  with  you. 
Men.  You  fillip  me  o'  the  head. 
Cres.  No,  I  '11  be  sworn. 

Ulyss.     It    were   no    match,   your    nail   against 
his  horn. 
May  I,  sweet  lady,  beg  a  kiss  of  you  ? 
Cres.  You  may. 
Ulyss.  I  do  desire  it. 

Cres.  Why,  beg,  then. 

Ulyss.    Why   then    for    Venus'    sake,   give    me 
a  kiss, 

33.    Patroclus  first  kisses  her  wager  my  life. 

in  Menelaus'  name,  then  in  his  42.    every    man  is   odd,    i.e. 

own.  single,  cne.                                   ^ 

37.   make  my  match  to  live, 

462 


sc.  V  Troilus  and  Cresslda 

When  Helen  is  a  maid  again,  and  his.  50 

Cres.  I  am  your  debtor,  claim  it  when  'tis  due. 

Ulyss.   Never 's  my  day,  and  then  a  kiss  of  you. 

Dio.  Lady,  a  word :  I  'II  bring  you  to  your 
father,  \Exit  ivith  Cressida. 

Nest.   A  woman  of  quick  sense. 

Ulyss.  Fie,  fie  upon  her! 

There  's  language  in  her  eye,  her  cheek,  her  lip, 
Nay,  her  foot  speaks  ;  her  wanton  spirits  look  out 
At  every  joint  and  motive  of  her  body. 
O,  these  encounterers,  so  glib  of  tongue,  .-^i^A. 

That  give  accosting  welcome  ere  it  comes,       ^^-^Jh^.  -M 

And  wide  unclasp  the  tables  of  their  thoughts  60 

To  every  ticklish  reader  !  set  them  down 
For  sluttish  spoils  of  opportunity 
And  daughters  of  the  game.  \Trumpet  within. 

All.   The  Trojans'  trumpet. 

Agam.  Yonder  comes  the  troop. 

Enter  Hector,  arfned ;  ^neas,  Troilus,  and 
other  Trojans,  ivith  Attendants. 

jEne.  Hail,  all  you  state  of  Greece !  what 
shall  be  done 

To  him  that  victory  commands  ?  or  do  you  pur- 
pose 

A  victor  shall  be  known  ?  will  you  the  knights 

Shall  to  the  edge  of  all  extremity 

57.  motive,    instrument     of      use  of  coasting  for   the  wooer  s 
motion,  limb.  approach  ;     whereas   accost,   as 

58.  encounterers,    bold,   for-      we   know  from  Twelfth  Night, 
ward  women.  meant    '  front    her,    board   her, 

59.  accosting.  Monk  Mason's      woo  her,  assail  her.' 
emendation  of  Q  F^  a  coasting,  60.   tables,  inscribed  tablets, 
which  Schmidt  explains  '  as  the  ,        .  ,,.  , 

first  step  taken  to  meet  the  hesi-  ^^-  ^''^^''^'  P™nent,  wanton, 

tating    approach   of  a   wooer.'  65.     state,     assembled    com- 

But  there  is  no  example  of  the      manders. 

463 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

Pursue  each  other,  or  shall  be  divided 

By  any  voice  or  order  of  the  field  ?  70 

Hector  bade  ask. 

Agam.  Which  way  would  Hector  have  it? 

y^ne.   He  cares  not ;  he  '11  obey  conditions. 

Achil.     'Tis   done    like    Hector ;    but    securely 
done, 
A  little  proudly,  and  great  deal  misprizing 
The  knight  opposed. 

^ne.  If  not  Achilles,  sir, 

What  is  your  name  ? 

Achil.  If  not  Achilles,  nothing. 

j^7ie.   Therefore  Achilles  :  but,  whate'er,  know 
this  : 
In  the  extremity  of  great  and  little, 
Valour  and  pride  excel  themselves  in  Hector ; 
The  one  almost  as  infinite  as  all,  80 

The  other  blank  as  nothing.     Weigh  him  well, 
And  that  which  looks  like  pride  is  courtesy. 
This  Ajax  is  half  made  of  Hector's  blood  : 
In  love  whereof,  half  Hector  stays  at  home ; 
Half  heart,  half  hand,  half  Hector  comes  to  seek 
This  blended  knight,  half  Trojan  and  half  Greek. 

Achil.  A  maiden  battle,  then?     O,  I  perceive 
you. 

Re-enter  Diomedes. 

Agam.     Here    is    Sir    Diomed.       Go,     gentle 
knight. 
Stand  by  our  Ajax  :  as  you  and  Lord  .^neas 
Consent  upon  the  order  of  their  fight,  90 

So  be  it  ;  either  to  the  uttermost. 
Or  else  a  breath  :  the  combatants  being  kin 

83.    Cf.  V.  120.  90.    Consent,  agree. 

.  ,       .       ,  ,      „  92.  a  breath,  a  mere  exercise. 

87.   maiden,  i.e.  bloodless.  Qr   ■■ 

464 


sc.  V  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Half  stints  their  strife  before  their  strokes  begin. 
[Ajax  and  Hector  enter  the  lists. 
Ulyss.  They  are  opposed  already. 
AgajH.  What  Trojan  is  that  same  that  looks  so 

heavy  ? 
Ulyss.    The   youngest    son    of   Priam,    a    true 
knight, 
Not  yet  mature,  yet  matchless,  firm  of  word, 
Speaking  in  deeds  and  deedless  in  his  tongue ; 
Not    soon    provoked    nor    being    provoked    soon 

calm'd ; 
His  heart  and  hand  both  open  and  both  free ;  loo 

For   what    he     has     he    gives,    what    thinks    he 

shows ; 
Yet  gives  he  not  till  judgement  guide  his  bounty 
Nor  dignifies  an  impare  thought  with  breath ; 
Manly  as  Hector,  but  more  dangerous  ; 
For  Hector  in  his  blaze  of  wrath  subscribes 
To  tender  objects,  but  he  in  heat  of  action 
Is  more  vindicative  than  jealous  love  : 
They  call  him  Troilus,  and  on  him  erect 
A  second  hope,  as  fairly  built  as  Hector. 
Thus  says  yEneas  ;  one  that  knows  the  youth  no 

Even  to  his  inches,  and  with  private  soul 
Did  in  great  Ilion  thus  translate  him  to  me. 

[Alarum.     Hector  and  Aj ax  fight. 
Agam.  They  are  in  action. 

103.    impare,    imperfect,    im-  to  Laertes  :    '  Give  thy  thoughts 
mature,    '  unproportioned. '     So  no  tongue,   Nor  any  unpropor- 
Q.      Ff    have    impaire.       The  tion'd  thought  his  act.' 
word    appears     to    be    Shake-  105.    subscribes  to,  yields  to 
speare's   coinage.       It  is   prob-  the  influence  of. 
ably  suggested  by  Lat.   impar,  iii.   with  private  soul,   con- 
not  by  the  verb  impair ;  but  the  fidentially.      The  word  soul  in- 
eraendator   of    the    Folio    text,  timates    that    the    '  confidence ' 
after  his  wont,  assimilated  it  to  expressed  .(Eneas'   inmost   con- 
the  familiar    word.       The    best  viction. 
commentary  is  Polonius'  charge  112.   translate,  interpret 

VOL.  Ill  465  2  H 


-.^^fA^ 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

Nest.  Now,  Ajax,  hold  thine  own  ! 

Tro.  Hector,  thou  sleep'st ; 

Awake  thee ! 

Agatn.    His   blows    are   well   disposed :    there, 
Ajax! 

Dio.  You  must  no  more.  \Trumpets  cease. 

^ne.  Princes,  enough,  so  please  you. 

Ajax.   I  am  not  warm  yet ;  let  us  fight  again. 

Dio.  As  Hector  pleases. 

Hect.  Why,  then  will  I  no  more : 

Thou  art,  great  lord,  my  father's  sister's  son,  120 

A  cousin-german  to  great  Priam's  seed  ; 
The  obligation  of  our  blood  forbids 
A  gory  emulation  'twixt  us  twain  : 
Were  thy  commixtion  Greek  and  Trojan  so 
That  thou  couldst  say  '  This  hand  is  Grecian  all, 
And  this  is  Trojan  ;  the  sinews  of  this  leg 
All  Greek,  and  this  all  Troy ;  my  mother's  blood 
Runs  on  the  dexter  cheek,  and  this  sinister 
Bounds  in  my  father's  ; '  by  Jove  multipotent. 
Thou    shouldst    not    bear    from    me   a    Greekish 

member  130 

Wherein  my  sword  had  not  impressure  made 
Of  our  rank  feud  :  but  the  just  gods  gainsay 
That  any  drop  thou  borrow'dst  from  thy  mother, 
My  sacred  aunt,  should  by  my  mortal  sword 
Be  drain'd  !     Let  me  embrace  thee,  Ajax : 
By  him  that  thunders,  thou  hast  lusty  arms ; 
Hector  would  have  them  fall  upon  him  thus  : 
Cousin,  all  honour  to  thee  ! 

Ajax.  I  thank  thee,  Hector : 

Thou  art  too  gentle  and  too  free  a  man  ; 
I  came  to  kill  thee,  cousin,  and  bear  hence  140 

A  great  addition  earned  in  thy  death. 

134.    sacred,    royal.     The   word   was    a    standing  epithet   of 
royalty. 

466 


sc.  V  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Hect.  Not  Neoptolemus  so  mirable, 
On    whose   bright    crest    Fame    with    her    loud'st 

Oyes 
Cries  '  This  is  he,'  could  promise  to  himself 
A  thought  of  added  honour  torn  from  Hector. 

^ne.  There  is  expectance  here  from  both  the 
sides, 
What  further  you  will  do. 

Hect.  We  '11  answer  it ; 

The  issue  is  embracement :  Ajax,  farewell. 

Ajax.   If  I  might  in  entreaties  find  success — 
As  seld  I  have  the  chance — I  would  desire  150 

My  famous  cousin  to  our  Grecian  tents. 

Dio.   'Tis  Agamemnon's  wish,  and  great  Achilles 
Doth  long  to  see  unarm'd  the  valiant  Hector. 

Hect.  ^neas,  call  my  brother  Troilus  to  me, 
And  signify  this  loving  interview 
To  the  expecters  of  our  Trojan  part ; 
Desire  them  home.     Give  me  thy  hand,  my  cousin ; 
I  will  go  eat  with  thee  and  see  your  knights. 

Ajax.  Great  Agamemnon  comes  to  meet  us  here. 

Hect.  The  worthiest  of  them  tell  me  name  by 
name ;  160 

But  for  Achilles,  mine  own  searching  eyes 
Shall  find  him  by  his  large  and  portly  size. 

Agam.   Worthy  of  arms  !  as  welcome  as  to  one 
That  would  be  rid  of  such  an  enemy ; 
But  that 's  no  welcome  :  understand  more  clear, 

142.     Neoptolemus,    Achilles.  cannot  be  meant,  as  he  has  been 

Shakespeare  seems  to  have  been  referred  to  as  a  boy  '  at  home,' 

led  to  give  him  this  name  either  iii.  3.  209.     Some  editors  tr}'  to 

from,  the  mention  in  the   Troy-  evade  the  difficulty  by  emenda- 

boke  of   a    Neoptolemus  beside  tion  :  e.g.   '  N.  sire  so  mirable ' 

Achilles  among    the  Greeks  at  (Hanmer). 
Troy,  or  from   the  name  of  his  142.    mirable,  admirable, 

son,    Pyrrhus    Neoptolemus,    as  143.    Oyes,  the  herald's  sum- 

if  Neoptolemus  were   a    family  mons  :   '  Hear  ! ' 
name.       Pyrrhus    Neoptolemus  165-170.   Omitted  in  Q. 

467 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  if 

What 's  past  and  what 's  to  come  is  strew'd  with 

husks 
And  formless  ruin  of  oblivion  ; 

But  in  this  extant  moment,  faith  and  troth,  .^ 

Strain'd  purely  from  all  hollow  bias-drawing,      -J--  -         i 
Bids  thee,  with  most  divine  integrity,  170 

From  heart  of  very  heart,  great  Hector,  welcome. 
Hed.  I  thank  thee,  most  imperious  Agamemnon. 
Again.    [To    Troilus\     My    well-famed    lord    of 

Troy,  no  less  to  you. 
Men.    Let    me    confirm    my  princely   brother's 
greeting : 
You  brace  of  warlike  brothers,  welcome  hither. 
Hed.  Who  must  we  answer  ? 
j^ne.  The  noble  Menelaus. 

Hed.   O,  you,  my  lord?   by  Mars  his  gauntlet, 
thanks  !  J'Ho-t.i 

Mock  not,  that  I  affect  the  untraded  oath  ;  'J^'^  '- 

Your  quondam  wife  swears  still  by  Venus'  glove : 
She  's  well,  but  bade  me  not  commend  her  to  you.  180 
Men.    Name  her  not  now,  sir ;   she 's  a  deadly 

theme. 
Hed.   O,  pardon  ;  I  offend. 
Nest.   I  have,  thou  gallant  Trojan,  seen  thee  oft 
Labouring  for  destiny  make  cruel  way    ■\~^-"<~^ 
Through    ranks    of  Greekish   youth,   and   I   have 

seen  thee, 
As  hot  as  Perseus,  spur  thy  Phrygian  steed, 
Despising  many  forfeits  and  subduements. 
When  thou  hast  hung  thy  advanced  sword  i'  the 
air, 

169.   bias-drawing,  swerving,  as  fate's  vicegerent. 
172.    imperious,  imperial.  187.    Despising  viany  forfeits 

178.  untraded,  unfamiliar,  un-  and  subduements,  i.e.  disdaining 

hackneyed.  to  slay  and  vanquish  many  whose 

184.    Labouring  for  destiny,  lives  were  in  his  power, 

468 


sc.  V  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Not  letting  it  decline  on  the  declined, 

That  I  have  said  to  some  my  standers  by  190 

'  Lo,  Jupiter  is  yonder,  dealing  life  ! ' 

And  I  have  seen  thee  pause  and  take  thy  breath. 

When  that  a  ring  of  Greeks  have  hemm'd  thee 

in, 
Like  an  Olympian  wrestling  :  this  have  I  seen ; 
But  this  thy  countenance,  still  lock'd  in  steel, 
I  never  saw  till  now.      I  knew  thy  grandsire. 
And  once  fought  with  him  :  he  was  a  soldier  good  ; 
But,  by  great  Mars,  the  captain  of  us  all. 
Never  like  thee.      Let  an  old  man  embrace  thee ; 
And,  worthy  warrior,  welcome  to  our  tents,  200 

^ne.  'Tis  the  old  Nestor. 

Hed.  Let  me  embrace  thee,  good  old  chronicle, 
That  hast  so  long  walk'd  hand  in  hand  with  time  : 
Most  reverend  Nestor,  I  am  glad  to  clasp  thee. 

Nest.  I  would  my  arms  could   match   thee  in 
contention, 
As  they  contend  with  thee  in  courtesy. 

Hect.   I  would  they  could. 

Nest.   Ha! 
By    this    white    beard,    I  'Id   fight   with  thee    to- 
morrow. 
Well,  welcome,  welcome ! — I  have  seen  the  time.    210 

Ulyss.   I  wonder  now  how  yonder  city  stands 
When  we  have  here  her  base  and  pillar  by  us. 

Hect.   I  know  your  favour,  Lord  Ulysses,  well. 
Ah,  sir,  there  's  many  a  Greek  and  Trojan  dead. 
Since  first  I  saw  yourself  and  Diomed 
In  Ilion,  on  your  Greekish  embassy. 

Ulyss.    Sir,    I    foretold   you    then   what   would 
ensue  : 
My  prophecy  is  but  half  his  journey  yet ; 
For  yonder  walls,  that  pertly  front  your  town, 

189.   the  declined,  the  fallen. 
469 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

Yond    towers,  whose  wanton   tops    do    buss    the 

clouds,  820 

Must  kiss  their  own  feet. 

Hect.  I  must  not  beheve  you  : 

There  they  stand  yet,  and  modestly  I  think. 
The  fall  of  every  Phrygian  stone  will  cost 
A  drop  of  Grecian  blood  :  the  end  crowns  all, 
And  that  old  common  arbitrator,  Time, 
Will  one  day  end  it. 

Ulyss.  So  to  him  we  leave  it. 

Most  gentle  and  most  valiant  Hector,  welcome : 
After  the  general,  I  beseech  you  next 
To  feast  with  me  and  see  me  at  my  tent. 

Achil.     I    shall    forestall    thee,    Lord    Ulysses, 
thou !  330 

Now,  Hector,  I  have  fed  mine  eyes  on  thee ; 
I  have  with  exact  view  perused  thee.  Hector, 
And  quoted  joint  by  joint. 

Hect.  Is  this  Achilles  ? 

Achil.   I  am  Achilles. 

Hect.   Stand  fair,  I  pray  thee  :  let  me  look  on 
thee. 

Achil.   Behold  thy  fill. 

Hect.  Nay,  I  have  done  already. 

Achil.  Thou  art  too  brief:    I  will  the  second 
time, 
As  I  would  buy  thee,  view  thee  limb  by  limb. 

Hect.    O,   like   a   book    of   sport   thou  'It   read 
me  o'er ; 
But  there  's  more  in  me  than  thou  understand'st.     240 
Why  dost  thou  so  oppress  me  with  thine  eye  ? 

Achil.    Tell   me,   you    heavens,  in    which   part 
of  his  body 
Shall  I  destroy  him?  whether  there,  or  there,  or 
there  ? 

233.  quoted,  observed. 
470 


sc.  V  Troilus  and  Cressida 

That  I  may  give  the  local  wound  a  name 
And  make  distinct  the  very  breach  whereout 
Hector's  great  spirit  flew  :  answer  me,  heavens  ! 

Hect.  It  would  discredit  the  blest  gods,  proud 
man, 
To  answer  such  a  question  :  stand  again  : 
Think'st  thou  to  catch  my  life  so  pleasantly 
As  to  prenominate  in  nice  conjecture  aso 

Where  thou  wilt  hit  me  dead  ? 

Achil.  I  tell  thee,  yea. 

Hect.  Wert  thou  an  oracle  to  tell  me  so, 
I 'Id  not    believe  thee.      Henceforth  guard  thee 

well ; 
For  I  '11  not  kill  thee  there,  nor  there,  nor  there ; 
But,  by  the  forge  that  stithied  Mars  his  helm, 
I  '11  kill  thee  every  where,  yea,  o'er  and  o'er. 
You  wisest  Grecians,  pardon  me  this  brag ; 
His  insolence  draws  folly  from  my  lips ; 
But  I  '11  endeavour  deeds  to  match  these  words, 
Or  may  I  never — 

Ajax.  Do  not  chafe  thee,  cousin :      a6o 

And  you,  Achilles,  let  these  threats  alone, 
Till  accident  or  purpose  bring  you  to 't : 
You  may  have  every  day  enough  of  Hector, 
If  you  have  stomach  ;  the  general  state,  I  fear,  .    . 

Can  scarce  entreat  you  to  be  odd  with  him.  qX  ^tA-^t-a- 

Hect.   I  pray  you,  let  us  see  you  in  the  field: 
We  have  had  pelting  wars,  since  you  refused 
The  Grecians'  cause. 

Achil.  Dost  thou  entreat  me,  Hector? 

To-morrow  do  I  meet  thee,  fell  as  death ; 
To-night  all  friends. 

Hect:  Thy  hand  upon  that  match.    270 

Agam.    First,  all  you  peers  of  Greece,  go  to 
my  tent ; 

265.  odd,  at  odds.  267.  pelting,  petty. 

47t 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  iv 

There  in  the  full  convive  we  :  afterwards,  ']  •    - 
As  Hector's  leisure  and  your  bounties  shall 
Concur  together,  severally  entreat  him. 
Beat  loud  the  tabourines,  let  the  trumpets  blow, 
That  this  great  soldier  may  his  welcome  know. 

[Exeunf  all  except  Troilus  and  Ulysses. 
Tro.    My    Lord    Ulysses,   tell    me,    I    beseech 
you, 
In  what  place  of  the  field  doth  Calchas  keep  ? 
Ulyss.      At     Menelaus'     tent,     most     princely 
Troilus  : 
There  Diomed  doth  feast  with  him  to-night ;  aSo 

Who  neither  looks  upon  the  heaven  nor  earth, 
But  gives  all  gaze  and  bent  of  amorous  view 
On  the  fair  Cressid. 

Tro.  Shall  I,  sweet  lord,  be  bound  to  you  so 
much, 
After  we  part  from  Agamemnon's  tent. 
To  bring  me  thither  ? 

Ulyss.  You  shall  command  me,  sir. 

As  gentle  tell  me,  of  what  honour  was 
This  Cressida  in  Troy  ?     Had  she  no  lover  there 
That  wails  her  absence  ? 

Tro.    O,  sir,  to    such    as  boasting  show  their 
scars  290 

A  mock  is  due.     Will  you  walk  on,  my  lord  ? 
She  was  beloved,  she  loved )  she  is,  and  doth : 
But  still  sweet  love  is  food  for  fortune's  tooth. 

\Exeu7it. 

272.  convive,  feast.  278.  keep,  dwell. 


472 


ACTv  Troilus  and  Cressida 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.      The  Greciatt  camp.     Before  Achillea 

tent. 

Enter  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Achtl.  I  '11  heat  his  blood  with  Greekish  wine 
to-night, 
Which  with  my  scimitar  I  '11  cool  to-morrow. 
Patroclus,  let  us  feast  him  to  the  height. 

Patr.  Here  comes  Thersites. 

Enter  Thersites. 

Achil.  How  now,  thou  core  of  envy  ! 

Thou  crusty  batch  of  nature,  what 's  the  news  ? 

Ther.  Why,  thou  picture  of  what  thou  seemest, 
and  idol  of  idiot-worshippers,  here 's  a  letter  for 
thee. 

Achil.   From  whence,  fragment  ? 

Ther.  Why,  thou  full  dish  of  fool,  from  Troy.        xo 

Patr.  Who  keeps  the  tent  now  ? 

Ther.  The  surgeon's  box,  or  the  patient's 
wound. 

Patr.  Well  said,  adversity !  and  what  need 
these  tricks  ? 

Ther.  Prithee,  be  silent,  boy  ;  I  profit  not  by 
thy  talk  :  thou  art  thought  to  be  Achilles'  male 
varlet. 

Patr.  Male  varlet,  you  rogue  !  what 's  that  ? 

4.  core,    v\cex  (quibbling  on      (abstract  for  concrete). 

the  sense  :  heart).  1 8.    varlet,    perhaps  =  harlot. 

5.  batch   of  nature,    loaf  of      Q  Fj  have  varlot,  which  is  per- 
nature's  baking.  haps    a   fusion    of    varlet    and 

14.     adversity,      '  Mischief ! '      harlot. 

473 


Troilus  and  Cressida  actv 

Ther.  Why,  his  masculine  whore.  Now,  the  30 
rotten  diseases  of  the  south,  the  guts -griping, 
ruptures,  catarrhs,  loads  o'  gravel  i'  the  back, 
lethargies,  cold  palsies,  raw  eyes,  dirt-rotten 
livers,  wheezing  lungs,  bladders  full  of  impost- 
hume,  sciaticas,  limekilns  i'  the  palm,  incurable 
bone-ache,  and  the  rivelled  fee-simple  of  the 
tetter,  take  and  take  again  such  preposterous 
discoveries!       cJIHaas.^' . 

Pair.  Why,  thou  damnable  box  of  envy,  thou, 
what  meanest  thou  to  curse  thus  ?  30 

Ther.   Do  I  curse  thee  ? 

Pair.   Why,   no,  you  ruinous  butt,  you  whore- 
son indistinguishable  cur,  no. 

Ther.  No  !  why  art  thou  then  exasperate, 
thou  idle  immaterial  skein  of  sleave-silk,  thou 
green  sarcenet  flap  for  a  sore  eye,  thou  tassel  of 
a  prodigal's  purse,  thou  ?  Ah,  how  the  poor 
world  is  pestered  with  such  waterflies,  diminu- 
tives of  nature  ! 

Pair.   Out,  gall !  40 

Ther.   Finch-egg  ! 

Achil.   My  sweet  Patroclus,  I  am  thwarted  quite 
From  my  great  purpose  in  to-morrow's  battle. 
Here  is  a  letter  from  Queen  Hecuba, 
A  token  from  her  daughter,  my  fair  love, 

■2Z.  rotten  diseases  of  the  soiith.  28.      discoveries.        Thersites 

The     moist     south    wind     was  probably  means  the  rank  abuses 

thought    to    be    charged    with  which    disclosed    themselves    to 

noxious  influences.  his  censorious  eye  in  the  Greek 

23-27.  raw  .  .  .  tetter.    In  the  camp   at    large.       Singer   read 
Ff  this  graphic  catalogue  is  cut  'discoverers,'     Hanmer.     'de- 
short  at  '  palsies,"  the  rest  being  baucheries.' 
represented  by  an 'and  the  like.'  32-     ruinous    butt,     decayed 
,.      ...                  ,  wine-tub. 

25.  limekilns,  gouty  lumps.  ^3.     indistinguishable,   of  no 

26.  rivelled,    wrinkled    (said      breed,  mongrel. 

of  the  bark-like  surface  of  the  35.  sleave-silk,  soft  floss  silk 

letter).  used  for  weaving, 

474 


sc.  1  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Both  taxing  me  and  gaging  me  to  keep 
An  oath  that  I  have  sworn,     I  will  not  break  it: 
Fall  Greeks  ;  fail  fame ;  honour  or  go  or  stay ; 
My  major  vow  lies  here,  this  I  '11  obey. 
Come,  come,  Thersites,  help  to  trim  my  tent :  so 

This  night  in  banqueting  must  all  be  spent. 
Away,  Patroclus  !  [Exeunt  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 
Ther.  With  too  much  blood  and  too  little 
brain,  these  two  may  run  mad;  but,  if  with  too 
much  brain  and  too  little  blood  they  do,  I  '11  be 
a  curer  of  m^admeri.  Here 's  Agamemnon,  an 
honest  fellow  enough,  and  one  that  loves  quails ;  / 

but  he  has  not  so  much  brain  as  ear-wax:    and  .  r  ^^J^ 

the  goodly    transformation    of  Jupiter  there,  his  '"   " 
brother,  the  bull, — the  primitive  statue,  and  oblique   6o  t-'>C^ 
memorial  of  cuckolds  ;   a  thrifty  shoeing-horn  in 
a  chain,  hanging  at   his   brother's   leg, — to   what 
form  but  that  he  is,  should  wit  larded  with  malice 
and  malice  forced  with  wit  turn  him  to?     To  an  /f^'"'"' 
ass,  were  nothing  ;  he  is  both  ass  and  ox  :  to  an 
ox,  were  nothing ;  he  is  both  ox  and  ass.     To  be 
a  dog,  a  mule,  a  cat,  a  fitchew,  a  toad,  a  lizard, 
an  owl,  a  puttock,  or  a  herring  without  a  roe,  I    .XM'^ 
would   not  care ;  but   to   be  Menelaus  !   I  would 
conspire  against   destiny.       Ask   me   not  what   I    70 
would  be,  if  I  were  not  Thersites ;  for  I  care  not 
to  be  the  louse  of  a  lazar,  so  I  were  not  Menelaus.       "-^-f*^ 
Hoy-day  !  spirits  and  fires  ! 

Enter  Hector,  Troilus,  Ajax,  Agamemnon, 
Ulysses,  Nestor,  Menelaus,  and  Diomedes, 
with  lights. 

Agam.  We  go  wrong,  we  go  wrong. 

6a  oblique,  indirect  or  figura  ■  67.  Jitckew,  polecat 

tive. 

64.  forced,  stuffed.  68.  puttock,  kite. 

475 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  v 

Ajax.  No,  yonder  'tis ; 

There,  where  we  see  the  lights. 

Hect.  I  trouble  you. 

Ajax,  No,  not  a  whit. 

Ulyss.  Here  comes  himself  to  guide  you. 

Re-enter  Achilles. 

AchiL     Welcome,     brave     Hector;     welcome, 

princes  all. 
Agam.  So  now,  fair  Prince  of  Troy,  I  bid  good 
night 
Ajax  commands  the  guard  to  tend  on  you, 

Hect.    Thanks  and  good  night  to  the   Greeks' 

general.  So 

Men.   Good  night,  my  lord. 
Hect.  Good  night,  sweet  Lord  Menelaus. 

Ther.   Sweet  draught :  '  sweet '  quoth  'a  !  sweet 
sink,  sweet  sewer. 

Achil.  Good  night  and  welcome,  both  at  once, 
to  those 
That  go  or  tarry. 
Agam.   Good  night. 

\Exeunt  Agamemnon  and  Menelaus. 
Achil.  Old  Nestor  tarries  ;  and  you  too,  Diomed, 
Keep  Hector  company  an  hour  or  two. 

Dio.  I  cannot,  lord  ;  I  have  important  business. 
The  tide  whereof  is  now.    Good  night,  great  Hector,  go 
Hect.   Give  me  your  hand. 

Ulyss.    [Aside    to    Troilus']    Follow   his    torch; 
he  goes  to  Calchas'  tent : 
I  '11  keep  you  company. 

Tro.  Sweet  sir,  you  honour  me. 

Hect.  And  so,  good  night. 

[Exit  Diomedes  ;    Ulysses  and 
Troilus  following. 

83.  draught,  sewer.  90.   tide,  time. 

476 


sc.  II  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Achil.  Come,  come,  enter  my  tent. 

\Exeunt  Achilles^  Hecior,  AJax,  and  Nestor. 

Ther.  That  same  Diomed 's  a  false-hearted 
rogue,  a  most  unjust  knave ;  I  will  no  more  trust 
him  when  he  leers  than  I  will  a  serpent  when  he 
hisses :  he  will  spend  his  mouth,  and  promise, 
like  Brabbler  the  hound ;  but  when  he  performs, 
astronomers  foretell  it ;  it  is  prodigious,  there  loc 
will  come  some  change ;  the  sun  borrows  of  the 
moon,  when  Diomed  keeps  his  word.  I  will  "f 
rather  leave  to  see  Hector,  than  not  to  dog  him : 
they  say  he  keeps  a  Trojan  drab,  and  uses  the 
traitor  Calchas'  tent :  I  '11  after.  Nothing  but 
lechery  !  all  incontinent  varlets  !  \JExit. 


Scene  II.      The  same.     Before  Calchas'  tent. 

Better  DiOMEDES. 

Dio.  What,  are  you  up  here,  ho  ?  speak. 

Cal.   [  Within']  Who  calls  ? 

Dio.    Diomed.      Calchas,    I    think.       Where's 

your  daughter  ? 
Cal.   \}Vithifi\  She  comes  to  you. 

Enter  Troilus  and  Ulysses,  at  a  distance  ;  after 
them,  Thersites. 

C/lyss.  Stand  where  the  torch  may  not  discover 
us. 

Enter  Cressida. 

Tro.  Cressid  comes  forth  to  him. 
Dio.  How  now,  my  charge  ! 

Cres.  Now,  my  sweet  guardian  !     Hark,  a  word 
with  you.  \lVhispers. 

An 


Troilus  and  Cressida  actv 

Tro.  Yea,  so  familiar  ! 

Uiyss.  She  will  sing  any  man  at  first  sight. 

Ther.   And  any  man  may  sing  her,  if  he  can   lo 
take  her  cliff;  she's  noted. 

Dio.  Will  you  remember? 

Cres.   Remember  !  yes. 

Dio.   Nay,  but  do,  then  ; 
And  let  your  mind  be  coupled  with  your  words, 

Tro.   What  should  she  remember? 

Ulyss.  List.  ■ 

C^es.  Sweet  honey  Greek,  tempt  me  no  more  to 
folly. 

TJur.   Roguery  ! 

Dio.   Nay,  then, —  20 

Cres.   I  '11  tell  you  what, — 

Dio.    Fob,  foh !  come,  tell  a  pin  :  you  are  for- 
sworn, 

Cres.   In  faith,  I  cannot :  what  would  you  have 
me  do? 

Ther.   A  juggling  trick, — to  be  secretly  open. 

Dio.  What  did  you  swear  you  would  bestow  on 
me? 

Cres.   I  prithee,  do  not  hold  me  to  mine  oath ; 
Bid  me  do  any  thing  but  that,  sweet  Greek. 

Dio.   Good  night. 

Tro.  Hold,  patience ! 

Ulyss.  How  now,  Trojan  30 

Cres.   Diomed, — 

Dio.  No,  no,  good  night :  I  'II  be  your  fool  no 
more. 

Tro.  Thy  better  must. 

Cres.   Hark,  one  word  in  your  ear. 

Tro.   O  plague  and  madness  ! 

II.   clij,    clef,    musical    key.      at     sight.         Noted    plays,     of 
Any  man  who  knows   in  what      course,  upon  the  same  figure. 
key  she  is  written  can  read  her 

478 


SC.  II 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


Ulyss.  You  are  moved,  prince ;  let  us  depart,  I 
pray  you, 
Lest  your  displeasure  should  enlarge  itself 
To  wrathful  terms  :  this  place  is  dangerous  ; 
The  time  right  deadly ;  I  beseech  you,  go. 

Tro.   Behold,  I  pray  you  ! 

Ulyss.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  go  off:   4* 

You  flow  to  great  distraction ;  come,  my  lord. 

Tro.  I  pray  thee,  stay. 

Ulyss.  You  have  not  patience  ;  come. 

Tro.   I   pray  you,  stay ;  by  hell  and  all  hell's 
torments, 
I  will  not  speak  a  word ! 

Die.  And  so,  good  night. 

Cres.  Nay,  but  you  part  in  anger. 

Tro.  Doth  that  grieve  thee? 

0  wither'd  truth  1 

Ulyss,  Why,  how  now,  lord  I 

Tro.  By  Jove, 

1  will  be  patient. 

Cres.  Guardian  ! — why,  Greek  ! 

Die.  Foh,  foh  !  adieu  ;  you  palter. 

Cres.  In  faith,   I   do  not :    come  hither  once 

again. 
Ulyss.  You  shake,  my  lord,  at  something :  will 
you  go  ?  50 

You  will  break  out. 

Tro.  She  strokes  his  cheek  ! 

Ulyss.  Come,  come. 

Tro.  Nay,  stay;  by  Jove,   I  will  not   speak  a 
word  : 
There  is  between  my  will  and  all  offences 
A  guard  of  .patience  :  stay  a  little  while. 

Ther.     How    the   devil    Luxury,    with    his    fat 

55.  Luxury,  wantonness.    The  potato  was  regarded  as  a  pro« 
vocative. 

479 


Troilus  and  Cressida  actv 

rump  and   potato -finger,   tickles  these  together! 
Fry,  lechery,  fry  ! 

Dio.  But  will  you,  then? 

Cres.  In  faith,  I  will,  la ;  never  trust  me  else. 

Dio.  Give  me  some  token  for  the  surety  of  it.       60 

Cres.  I  '11  fetch  you  one.  \Exit. 

Ulyss.  You  have  sworn  patience. 

Tro.  Fear  me  not,  sweet  lord] 

I  will  not  be  myself,  nor  have  cognition 
Of  what  I  feel :  I  am  all  patience. 

Re-enter  Cressida. 

Ther.   Now  the  pledge  ;  now,  now,  now ! 

Cres.  Here,  Diomed,  keep  this  sleeve. 

Tro.  O  beauty  !  where  is  thy  faith  ? 

Ulyss.  My  lord, — 

Tro.  I  will  be  patient ;  outwardly  I  will. 

Cres.  You  look   upon  that  sleeve;    behold  it 
well. 
He  loved  me — O  false  wench  ! — Give 't  me  again.    70 

Dio.  Whose  was  't  ? 

Cres.   It  is  no  matter,  now  I  have  't  again. 
I  will  not  meet  with  you  to-morrow  night : 
I  prithee,  Diomed,  visit  me  no  more. 

Ther.  Now  she  sharpens  :  well  said,  whetstone ! 

Dio.  I  shall  have  it. 

Cres.  What,  this  ? 

Dio.  Ay,  that. 

Cres.  O,  all  you  gods  !     O  pretty,  pretty  pledge ! 
Thy  master  now  lies  thinking  in  his  bed 
Of  thee  and  me,  and  sighs,  and  takes  my  glove, 
And  gives  memorial  dainty  kisses  to  it,  80 

As  I  kiss  thee.      Nay,  do  not  snatch  it  from  me; 
He  that  takes  that  doth  take  my  heart  withal. 

Dio.  I  had  your  heart  before,  this  follows  it 

Tro.  I  did  swear  patience. 

480 


sc.  II  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Cres.   You   shall  not   have  it,  Diomed;   faith, 
you  shall  not ; 
I  '11  give  you  something  else. 

Dio.   I  will  have  this  :  whose  was  it  ? 

Cres.  It  is  no  matter. 

Z)io.   Come,  tell  me  whose  it  was. 

Cres.    'Twas  one's  that   loved   me  better  than 
you  will. 
But,  now  you  have  it,  take  it. 

Dio.  Whose  was  it  ? 

Cres.  By  all  Diana's  waiting-women  yond, 
And  by  herself,  I  will  not  tell  you  whose. 

Dio.  To-morrow  will  I  wear  it  on  my  helm, 
And  grieve  his  spirit  that  dares  not  challenge  it. 

Tro.  Wert  thou  the  devil,  and  worest  it  on  thy 
horn, 
It  should  be  challenged. 

Cres.  Well,  well,  'tis  done,  'tis  past :  and  yet  it 
is  not ; 
I  will  not  keep  my  word. 

Dio.  ^Vhy,  then,  farewell ; 

Thou  never  shalt  mock  Diomed  again. 

Cres.  You  shall  not  go  :    one  cannot  speak  a 
word, 
But  it  straight  starts  you. 

Dio.  I  do  not  like  this  fooling. 

Ther.   Nor  I,  by  Pluto :   but  that  that  likes  not 
you  pleases  me  best. 

Dio.  What,  shall  I  come  ?  the  hour  ? 

Cres.  Ay,  come: — O  Jove  ! — do  come  : — I  shall 
be  plagued. 

Dio.   Farewell  till  then. 

Cres.         •  Good  night :  I  prithee,  come. 

\_Exit  Diomedes. 
Troilus,  farewell !  one  eye  yet  looks  on  thee ; 
But  with  my  heart  the  other  eye  doth  see. 

VOL.  Ill  481  21 


90 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  v 

Ah,  poor  our  sex  !  this  fault  in  us  I  find, 
The  error  of  our  eye  directs  our  mind  :  no 

What  error  leads  must  err ;  O,  then  conclude  '  .% 

Minds  sway'd  by  eyes  are  full  of  turpitude.    [Exi'f.Pi^ 

Ther.  A  proof  of  strength  she  could  not  publish 
more, 
Unless  she  said  '  My  mind  is  now  turn'd  whore.' 

Ulyss.  All 's  done,  my  lord. 

Tro.  It  is, 

Ulyss.  Why  stay  we,  then  ?  ,  / 

Tro.  To  make  a  recordation  to  my  soul  j{j^{^ijjj^ 
Of  every  syllable  that  here  was  spoke. 
But  if  I  tell  how  these  two  did  co-act, 
Shall  I  not  lie  in  publishing  a  truth? 
Sith  yet  there  is  a  credence  in  my  heart,  120 

An  esperance  so  obstinately  strong, 
That  doth  invert  the  attest  of  eyes  and  ears, 
As  if  those  organs  had  deceptious  functions, 
Created  only  to  calumniate. 
Was  Cressid  here  ? 

Ulyss.  I  cannot  conjure,  Trojan. 

Tro.  She  was  not,  sure. 

Ulyss.  Most  sure  she  was. 

Tro.  Why,  my  negation  hath  no  taste  of  madness. 

Ulyss.   Nor  mine,  my  lord :    Cressid  was  here 
but  now. 

Tro.   Let  it  not  be  believed  for  womanhood  I 
Think,  we  had  mothers ;  do  not  give  advantage       ijo 
To  stubborn  critics,  apt,  without  a  theme, 
For  depravation,  to  square  the  general  sex 
By  Cressid's  rule  :  rather  think  this  not  Cressid. 

Ulyss.  What  hath  she  done,  prince,  that  can  soil 
our  mothers  ? 

113.     more,    greater,    i.e,     a      my  soul,  recall  to  mind, 
stronger  proof. 

116.    make  a  recordation   to  132.   depravation,  detraction. 

483 


SC.  II 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


Tro.  Nothing  at  all,  unless  that  this  were  she. 

Ther,  Will    he  swagger  himself  out  on's  own 
eyes  ? 

Tro.  This  she  ?  no,  this  is  Diomed's  Cressida :  i '  1  4^  ■ 

If  beauty  have  a  soul,  this  is  not  she  ;  .  .f^.>*- 

If  souls  guide  vows,  if  vows  be  sanctimonies, 

If  sanctimony  be  the  gods'  delight,  140  t 

If  there  be  rule  in  unity  itself. 
This  is  not  she.      O  madness  of  discourse. 
That  cause  sets  up  with  and  against  itself! 

Bi-fold  authority  !  where  reason  can  revolt  ^  ^^' 

Without  perdition,  and  loss  assume  all  reason 
Without  revolt  :  this  is,  and  is  not,  Cressid. 
Within  my  soul  there  doth  conduce  a  fight 
Of  this  strange  nature  that  a  thing  inseparate 
Divides  more  wider  than  the  sky  and  earth, 
And  yet  the  spacious  breadth  of  this  division  130 

Admits  no  orifex  for  a  point  as  subtle 
As  Ariachne's  broken  woof  to  enter. 
Instance,  O  instance  !  strong  as  Pluto's  gates  ; 
Cressid  is  mine,  tied  with  the  bonds  of  heaven : 
Instance,  O  instance  !  strong  as  heaven  itself; 
The  bonds  of  heaven  are  slipp'd,  dissolved,  and 

loosed ; 
And  with  another  knot,  five-finger-tied. 
The  fractions  of  her  faith,  orts  of  her  love, 
The  fragments,  scraps,  the  bits  and  greasy  relics 
Of  her  o'er-eaten  faith,  are  bound  to  Diomed.  160   i^kiJi^ltKkT^ 

Ulyss.  May  worthy  Troilus  be  half  attach'd 

141.   If  there  be  rule  in  unity  the    spider,    probably    through                                 -f^ 

itself,  if  one  is  one.  confusion  with  Ariadne. 

144.   Bi-fold,  two-fold.  153-   Instance,  proof. 

,,•_,.,          J         .  i!;8.   orts,  remnants. 

147.     there    doth    conduce  a  ?        .          ^        j            a 

^  ,,'    ,       .....     J  ,      .    „  160.   oer-eaten,  devoured  on 

fight,  a  battle  is  '  joined,   anses.  ^^  ^.^^_ 

151.  oHfex,  orifice.  ^^^    '^^  attach' d  with,  feel  at 

152.  Ariachne,  for  Arachne,      heart. 

483 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  v 

With  that  which  here  his  passion  doth  express  ? 

"Tro.  Ay,  Greek ;  and  that  shall  be  divulged  well 
In  characters  as  red  as  Mars  his  heart 
Inflamed  with  Venus  :  never  did  young  man  fancy 
With  so  eternal  and  so  fix'd  a  soul. 
Hark,  Greek  :  as  much  as  I  do  Cressid  love. 
So  much  by  weight  hate  I  her  Diomed  : 
That  sleeve  is  mine  that  he  '11  bear  on  his  helm  ; 
^Vere  it  a  casque  composed  by  Vulcan's  skill,  170 

My  sword  should  bite  it :  not  the  dreadful  spout 
Which  shipmen  do  the  hurricano  call, 
Constringed  in  mass  by  the  almighty  sun. 
Shall  dizzy  with  more  clamour  Neptune's  ear 
In  his  descent  than  shall  my  prompted  sword 
Falling  on  Diomed. 

Ther.   He  '11  tickle  it  for  his  concupy. 

Tro.  O  Cressid !   O  false  Cressid  !   false,  false, 
false  ! 
Let  all  untruths  stand  by  thy  stained  name, 
And  they  '11  seem  glorious. 

Ulyss.  O,  contain  yourself;  180 

Your  passion  draws  ears  hither. 

Enter  .^neas. 

yEne.   I  have  been  seeking  you  this  hour,  my 
lord: 
Hector,  by  this,  is  arming  him  in  Troy  ; 
Ajax,  your  guard,  stays  to  conduct  you  home. 
Tro.   Have  with  you,  prince.    My  courteous  lord, 
adieu. 
Farewell,  revolted  fair  !  and,  Diomed, 
Stand  fast,  and  wear  a  castle  on  thy  head  ! 

172.  hurricano,  waterspout.  177.    concupy ;   a  jesting  ab- 

173.  Constringed,  drawn  ior-      breviation  of  '  concupiscence.' 
cibly  together.  185.    Have  with  you,  I'll  go 

177.  tickle  it,  'serve  him  out.'      with  you. 

4S4 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Ulyss.   I  '11  bring  you  to  the  gates. 

Tro.  Accept  distracted  thanks. 

\E,xeuiit  Troilus,  yEfteas,  and  Ulysses. 

Ther.  Would  I  could  meet  that  rogue  Diomed  !  igo 
I  would  croak  like  a  raven ;  I  would  bode,  I 
would  bode.  Patroclus  will  give  me  any  thing 
for  the  intelligence  of  this  whore  :  the  parrot  will 
not  do  more  for  an  almond  than  he  for  a  com- 
modious drab.  Lechery,  lechery  ;  still,  wars  and 
lechery ;  nothing  else  holds  fashion :  a  burning 
devil  take  them  !  [Exit 


Scene  III.      Troy.     Before  Priam^s palace. 

Enter  Hector  and  Andromache. 

And.  When   was    my   lord    so   much   ungently 
temper'd, 
To  stop  his  ears  against  admonishment  ? 
Unarm,  unarm,  and  do  not  fight  to-day. 

Hed.  You  train  me  to  offend  you ;  get  you  in  : 
By  all  the  everlasting  gods,  I  '11  go  ! 

And.   My  dreams  will,  sure,  prove  ominous  to 

the  day. 
Hect.  No  more,  I  say. 

Enter  Cassandra. 

Cas.  Where  is  my  brother  Hector? 

And.  Here,  sister ;  arm'd,  and  bloody  in  intent. 
Consort  with  me  in  loud  and  dear  petition, 
Pursue  we  him  on  knees ;  for  I  have  dream'd 
Of  bloo'dy  turbulence,  and  this  whole  night 
Hath    nothing    been    but    shapes    and    forms    of 
slaughter. 

Cas.   O,  'tis  true. 

485 


Troilus  and  Cressida  actv 

Hect  Ho  !  bid  my  trumpet  sound. 

Cas.  No  notes  of  sally,  for  the  heavens,  sweet 
brother. 

Hect.  Be  gone,  I  say ;  the  gods  have  heard  me 
swear. 

Cas.  The  gods  are  deaf  to  hot  and  peevish  vows  : 
They  are  polluted  offerings,  more  abhorr'd 
Than  spotted  livers  in  the  sacrifice. 

And.   O,  be  persuaded  !  do  not  count  it  holy 
To  hurt  by  being  just;  it  is  as  lawful,  20 

For  we  would  give  much,  to  use  violent  thefts, 
And  rob  in  the  behalf  of  charity. 

Cas.   It  is  the  purpose  that  makes  strong  thevow  ; 
But  vows  to  every  purpose  must  not  hold  : 
Unarm,  sweet  Hector. 

Hect  Hold  you  still,  I  say  ; 

Mine  honour  keeps  the  v/eather  of  my  fate  : 
Life  every  man  holds  dear  \  but  the  brave  man 
Holds  honour  far  more  precious-dear  than  life. 

Enter  Troilus. 

How  now,  young  man !  mean'st  thou  to  fight  to-day  ? 

And.  Cassandra,  call  my  father  to  persuade.  30 

\_Exit  Cassafidra. 

Hect.   No,  faith,  young  Troilus  ;  doff  thy  harness, .  ''2 ; ;'.  ?  U^ 
youth ; 
I  am  to-day  i'  the  vein  of  chivalry :  , 
Let  grow  thy  sinews  till  their  knots  be  strong, 
And  tempt  not  yet  the  brushes  of  the  war. 
Unarm  thee,  go,  and  doubt  thou  not,  brave  boy, 
I  '11  stand  to-day  for  thee  and  me  and  Troy. 

Tro.   Brother,  you  have  a  vice  of  mercy  in  you, 

20,    21.     This    is    Tyrwhitt's      would  count  give  imuk  to  as  vio- 
reconstruction    of   the   passage.       lent  thefts.' 
Ff   have  :    '  as  lawful :  For  we  21.   For,  because. 

486 


sc.  Ill  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Which  better  fits  a^hon  than  a  man. 

Hect.  What  vice  is  that,  good  Troilus  ?  chide  me 
for  it. 

Tro.  When  many  times  the  captive  Grecian  falls,    40 
Even  in  the  fan  and  wind  of  your  fair  sword, 
You  bid  them  rise,  and  live. 

Hect.   O,  'tis  fair  play. 

Tro.  Fool's  play,  by  heaven.  Hector. 

Hect.   How  now  !  how  now  ! 

Tro.  For  the  love  of  all  the  gods, 

Let 's  leave  the  hermit  pity  witli  our  mothers. 
And  when  we  have  our  armours  buckled  on, 
The  venom'd  vengeance  ride  upon  our  swords. 
Spur  them  to  ruthful  work,  rein  them  from  rulh. . 

Hect.   Fie,  savage,  fie  ! 

Tro.  Hector,  then  'tis  wars. 

Hect.  Troilus,  I  would  not  have  you  fight  to-day.    50 

Tro.  Who  should  Avithhold  me  ? 
Not  fate,  obedience,  nor  the  hand  of  Mars 
Beckoning  with  fiery  truncheon  my  retire ; 
Not  Priamus  and  Hecuba  on  knees. 
Their  eyes  o'ergalled  with  recourse  of  tears  ; 
Nor  you,  my  brother,  with  your  true  sword  drawn, 
Opposed  to  hinder  me,  should  stop  my  way, 
■)  But  by  my  ruin. 

Re-enter  Cassandra,  with  Priam. 

Cas.   Lay  hold  upon  him,  Priam,  hold  him  fast : 
He  is  thy  crutch  ;  now  if  thou  lose  thy  stay,  60 

Thou  on  him  leaning,  and  all  Troy  on  thee, 
Fall  all  together. 

38.    a  lioru.     It  was  tradition-  48.  ruthful,  pity-exciting,  i.e. 

ally  said   of    the   lion    that   he  fell,  destructive. 
'  spareth   what   creature   soever 

lieth  prostrate  before  him  '  ( Hoi-  55-    recourse,  flow, 

land's  Translation  of  Pliny).  58.    ruin,    fall.      This  line  is 

40.   captive,  vanquished.  omitted  in  Q. 

487 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  v 

Pri.  Come,  Hector,  come,  go  back  : 

Thy   wife   hath   dream'd ;    thy   mother  hath   had 

visions  ; 
Cassandra  doth  foresee  ;  and  I  myself 
Am  like  a  prophet  suddenly  enrapt 
To  tell  thee  that  this  day  is  ominous  : 
Therefore,  come  back. 

Hect.  ^neas  is  a- field  ; 

And  I  do  stand  engaged  to  many  Greeks, 
Even  in  the  faith  of  valour,  to  appear 
This  morning  to  them. 

Pri.  Ay,  but  thou  shalt  not  go.    70 

Hcd.   I  must  not  break  my  faith. 
You  know  me  dutiful ;  therefore,  dear  sir, 
Let  me  not  shame  respect ;  but  give  me  leave 
To  take  that  course  by  your  consent  and  voice, 
Which  you  do  here  forbid  me,  royal  Priam. 

Cas.   O  Priam,  yield  not  to  him  ! 

Atid.  Do  not,  dear  father. 

Hcd.   Andromache,  I  am  offended  with  you  : 
Upon  the  love  you  bear  me,  get  you  in. 

\Exit  Andromache. 

Tro.   This  foolish,  dreaming,  superstitious  girl 
Makes  all  these  bodements. 

Cas.  O,  farewell,  dear  Hector  !   80 

Look,  how  thou  diest !  look,  hov/  thy  eye  turns  pale  ! 
Look,  how  thy  wounds  do  bleed  at  many  vents  1 
Hark,  how  Troy  roars  !  how  Hecuba  cries  out ! 
How  poor  Andromache  shrills  her  dolours  forth  I 
Behold,  distraction,  frenzy  and  amazement, 
0iJnjr*jo  Like  witless  antics,  one  another  meet, 

And  all  cry,  Hector !  Hector 's  dead  !  O  Hector ! 

Tro    Away  !  away  ! 

Cas.  Farewell :    yet,  soft !   Hector,   I   take  my 
leave : 

86.  antics,  clowns,  jesters. 
488 


SC.  Ill 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


Thou  dost  thyself  and  all  our  Troy  deceive.  \_Exit.    90 

Hed.  You  are  amazed,  my  liege,  at  her  exclaim  : 
Go  in  and  cheer  the  town  :  we  '11  forth  and  fight, 
Do  deeds  worth  praise  and  tell  you  them  at  night. 

Pri.  Farewell :  the  gods  with  safety  stand  about 
thee  ! 

\Exeunt  severally  Priam  a?jd  Hector.      Alarums. 

Tro.  They  are  at    it,  hark!      Proud    Diomed, 
believe, 
I  come  to  lose  my  arm,  or  win  my  sleeve. 

Enter  Pandarus. 

Pan.   Do  you  hear,  my  lord  ?  do  you  hear  ? 

Tro.  What  now  ? 

Pan.   Here  's  a  letter  come  from  yond  poor  girl. 

Tro.   Let  me  read.  10© 

Pan.  A  whoreson  tisick,  a  whoreson  rascally  O^ji^ 
tisick  so  troubles  me,  and  the  foolish  fortune  of 
this  girl ;  and  what  one  thing,  what  another,  that 
I  shall  leave  you  one  o'  these  days  :  and  I  have  a 
rheum  in  mine  eyes  too,  and  such  an  ache  in  my 
bones  that,  unless  a  man  were  cursed,  I  cannot 
tell  what  to  think  on  't.     What  says  she  there? 

Tro.    Words,    words,    mere    words,    no    matter 
from  the  heart ; 
The  effect  doth  operate  another  way. 

\Tea7-ing  the  letter. 
Go,  wind,  to  wind,  there  turn  and  change  together,  no 
My  love  with  words  and  errors  still  she  feeds ; 
But  edifies  another  with  her  deeds. 

\_Exeunt  severally. 

91.   exclaim,  outcry.  iii.    words  and  errors,  mis- 

,.  .  ,      ,.,.  •  leading  words. 

loi.   tisick,  phthisic.  T-     u  •        »      .u  „^ 

'  ^  112.     Fj    here    inserts    three 

106.  unless  aman  were  cursed,       lines  which  occur,  with  a  slight 

i.e.  unless  it  be  the  result  of  a      variation  in  the  first,  at  Sc.  10. 

curse  upon  me.  32-34-    {But hear .  .  .  thy  name). 

489 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  v 


Scene  IV.     Plains  between  Troy  and  the  Grecian 

ca?nj). 

Alarums :  excursions.     Enter  Thersites. 

■^  Ther.  Now  they  are  clapper  -  clawing  one 
another ;  I  '11  go  look  on.  That  dissembling 
abominable  varlet,  Diomed,  has  got  that  same 
scurvy  doting  foolish  young  knave's  sleeve  of 
Troy  there  in  his  helm  :  I  would  fain  see  them 
meet ;  that  that  same  young  Trojan  ass,  that  loves 
the  whore  there,  might  send  that  Greekish  whore- 
masterly  villain,  with  the  sleeve,  back  to  the  dis-  '' 
sembling  luxurious  drab,  of  a  sleeveless  errand. '*''  "/^J 
O'  the  t'  other  side,  the  policy  of  those  crafty  lo 
swearing  rascals,  that  stale  old  mouse-eaten  dry 
cheese,  Nestor,  and  that  same  dog-fox,  Ulysses, 
is  not  proved  worth  a  blackberry :  they  set  me  up, 
in  policy,  that  mongrel  cur,  Ajax,  against  that 
dog  of  as  bad  a  kind,  Achilles  :  and  now  is  the 
cur  Ajax  prouder  than  the  cur  Achilles,  and  will 
not  arm  to-day  ;  whereupon  the  Grecians  begin 
to  proclaim  barbarism,  and  policy  grows  into  an 
ill  opinion.      Soft !  here  comes  sleeve,  and  t'  other. 

Enter  Diomedes,  "Y-RQlLVa  folloiving. 

Tro.  Fly  not ;  for  shouldst  thou  take  the  river 
Styx,  90 

I  would  swim  after. 

Dio.  Thou  dost  miscall  retire  : 

I  do  not  fly,  but  advantageous  care 

I.  clapper-clawing,  handling.  i8.   barbarism,  state  of  boor- 

Cf.  the  preface  to  Qj.  ishness,  contrasted  with  'pohcy.' 

.  •„;„„-  22.     advantageous  care,   con- 

Q.    luxurious,  vicious.  ^  /•  Ul 

^  cern     to    secure    a    favourable 

ib.  sleeveless,  unprofitable.  position  for  fighting. 

490 


SC.  V 


Troilus  and  Cressida 


Withdrew  me  from  the  odds  of  multitude  : 
Have  at  thee  ! 

Ther.  Hold  thy  whore,  Grecian  ! — now  for 
thy  whore,  Trojan  ! — now  the  sleeve,  now  the 
sleeve  ! 

\Exeu7it  Troilus  and  Diomedes,  fighting. 

Enter  Hector. 

Jlect.  What    art    thou,    Greek?     art    thou    for 
Hector's  match  ? 
Art  thou  of  blood  and  honour? 

T/ier.   No,  no,  I  am  a  rascal;    a  scurvy  railing   30 
knave  ;  a  very  filthy  rogue. 

Hect.  I  do  believe  thee  :  live.  \_Exit. 

Ther.  God- a -mercy,  that  thou  wilt  believe 
me ;  but  a  plague  break  thy  neck  for  frighting 
me  !  What 's  become  of  the  wenching  rogues  ?  I 
think  they  have  swallowed  one  another  :  I  would 
laugh  at  that  miracle  :  yet,  in  a  sort,  lechery  eats 
itself.     I  '11  seek  them.  \Exit. 


Scene  V.     A nofher  part  of  the  plains. 

Enter  Diomedes  and  a  Servant. 

Dio.    Go,   go,    my  servant,    take   thou  Troilus' 
horse ; 
Present  the  fair  steed  to  my  lady  Cressid : 
Fellow,  commend  my  service  to  her  beauty ; 
Tell  her  I  have  chastised  the  amorous  Trojan, 
And  am  her  knight  by  proof 

Serv.    '  I  go,  my  lord.     \Exit. 

Enter  Agamemnon. 

Agam.  Renew,  renew  !     The  fierce  Polydamas 

491 


^ 


/ 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  v 

Hath  beat  down  Menon  :  bastard  Margarelon 
Hath  Doreus  prisoner,  ^ ^     ^  . 

And  stands  colossus-wise,  waving  his  beam, 
Upon  the  pashed  corses  of  the  kings  lo 

Epistrophus  and  Cedius  :  Polyxenes  is  slain, 
Amphimachus  and  Thoas  deadly  hurt, 
Patroclus  ta'en  or  slain,  and  Palamedes 
Sore  hurt  and  bruised  :  the  dreadful  Sagittary 
Appals  our  numbers  :  haste  we,  Diomed,         .j. 
To  reinforcement,  or  we  perish  all. 

Enter  Nestor. 

Nest.   Go,  bear  Patroclus'  body  to  Achilles ; 
And  bid  the  snail-paced  Ajax  arm  for  shame. 
There  is  a  thousand  Hectors  in  the  field  : 
Now  here  he  fights  on  Galathe  his  horse,  so 

And  there  lacks  work  ;  anon  he  's  there  afoot, 
And  there  they  fly  or  die,  like  scaled  sculls       -k  i: Qf-lo- 
Before  the  belching  whale  ;  then  is  he  yonder. 
And  there  the  strawy  Greeks,  ripe  for  his  edge, 
Fall  down  before  him,  like  the  mower's  swath  : 
Here,  there,  and  every  where,  he  leaves  and  takes. 
Dexterity  so  obeying  appetite 

Q.   beam    heavy  lance.  ^^^  ^''^  '^''^  towe  both  at  even  and 

14.     the    dreadful   Sagittary,  UponcTeekes  he  wroughte  muche 
the  Centaur  archer  who  fought  sorwe. 

on  the  Trojan  side.     The   im-  ^^;^^.^  ^^^^^^^  ^^^^    g^^^jj  ^^ 

mediate   source   was   the    Troy-  g     ^^^^^^    ^^,,^^^    ^^    p^^f_     j^^^ 

boke.    where  Lydgate   describes  ^^^       -^^^^  ^^^  ,^   .^.  ^^^^  ^^. 

him  at  length  on  the  authority  ^^^^^^_    ^     ^^3^^    actually   uses 

of  Guido  Colonna  :—  j^^    j^^^    .  Sagittary  '    of    his 

Passing  foul  and  hirrible  of  sight,  centaur  :  — 

Whose  eves  twain  were  sparkling  as  ti    .      1   •  •  ^    • 

V^  .   /  f  b  II  ot  o  lui  un  saietaire 

bngnt  .  ,   ,  .      _  ,  ,  ,  ^„  Qui  molt  fu  fels  et  dcputaire,  etc. 

As  IS  a  furnace  with  his  red  leven,  ^  ^  ' 

Or  the  lightning  that  falleth  from  the      The  term  was  familiar  from   the 

hevene ;  a      a        c        e      zodiacal  Sagittarius. 

Dredeful  of  loke  and  red  as  fire  of  ,  5>        ,,       ■       ,       r/-  u 

gljgfg  22.  j^ca/eajcw/zj,  Shoals  01  tisn. 

Andas  I  rede,  he  wasagodearchere;  24.    j/^'awv,  like  straw. 

492 


30 


sc.  V  Troilus  and  Cressida 

That  what  he  will  he  does,  and  does  so  much 
That  proof  is  call'd  impossibility. 

Enter  Ulysses. 

Ulyss.     O,    courage,    courage,    princes !     great 

Achilles 

Is  arming,  weeping,  cursing,  vowing  vengeance  : 
Patroclus'  wounds  have  roused  his  drowsy  blood, 
Togetlier  with  his  mangled  Myrmidons, 
That  noseless,  handless,  hack'd  and  chipp'd,  come 

to  him, 
Crying  on  Hector.     Ajax  hath  lost  a  friend 
And  foams  at  mouth,  and  he  is  arm'd  and  at  it, 
Roaring  for  Troilus,  who  hath  done  to-day 
Mad  and  fantastic  execution. 
Engaging  and  redeeming  of  himself 
With  such  a  careless  force  and  forceless  care  40 

As  if  that  luck,  in  very  spite  of  cunning, 
Bade  him  win  all. 

Enter  Ajax, 

Ajax.  Troilus  !  thou  coward  Troilus  !        \Exit. 
Dio.  Ay,  there,  there. 

Nest.   So,  so,  we  draw  together. 

Efiter  Achilles. 

Achil.  Where  is  this  Hector  ? 

Come,  come,  thou  boy-queller,  show  thy  face ;  Jj^L^ 
Know  what  it  is  to  meet  Achilles  angry  : 
Hector  !  where  's  Hector  ?  I  will  none  but  Hector. 

[Exeunt. 
45.  boy-queller,  boy-killer. 


493 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  v 

Scene  VI.     Another  part  of  the  plains. 

Enter  AjAX. 

Ajax.  Troilus,  thou  coward  Troilus,  show  thy 
head ! 

Eftter  DiOMEDES. 

Dio.  Troilus,  I  say  !  where  's  Troilus  ? 
AJax.  What  wouldst  thou  ? 

Dio.   I  would  correct  him. 
AJax.    Were  I  the  general,  thou  shouldst  have 
my  ofifice 
Ere  that  correction.     Troilus,  I  say!  what,  Troilus  J 

Enter  Troilus. 

Tro.  O  traitor  Diomed  !  turn  thy  false  face,  thou 

traitor, 
And  pay  thy  life  thou  owest  me  for  my  horse  \ 
Dio.   Ha,  art  thou  there  ? 

Ajax.   I  '11  fight  with  him  alone  :  stand,  Diomed. 
Dio.   He  is  my  prize ;  I  will  not  look  upon.  lo 

Tro.    Come,  both   you   cogging  Greeks ;    have 

at  you  both  !  \Exeunt^  fighting. 

Enter  Hector. 

Hed.     Yea,    Troilus?     O,    well    fought,     my 
youngest  brother ! 

Enter  Achilles. 

Achil.   Now  do  I  see  thee,  ha !    have  at  thee, 

Hector  ! 
Hed.   Pause,  if  thou  wilt. 
Achil.   I  do  disdain  thy  courtesy,  proud  Trojan  : 

lo.  look  upon,  look  on.  ii.  cogging,  deceitful. 

494 


sc.  VII  Trollus  and  Cressida 

Be  happy  that  my  arms  are  out  of  use : 

My  rest  and  negligence  befriends  thee  now, 

But  thou  anon  shalt  hear  of  me  again  ; 

Till  when,  go  seek  thy  fortune.  [Exit. 

Hect.  Fare  thee  well : 

I  would  have  been  much  more  a  fresher  man,  20 

Had  I  expected  thee.      How  now,  my  brother  ! 

Re-enter  Troilus. 

Tro,  Ajax  hath  ta'en  .^neas  :  shall  it  be  ? 
No,  by  the  flame  of  yonder  glorious  heaven. 
He  shall  not  carry  him  ;  I  '"11  be  ta'en  too. 
Or  bring  him  off:   fate,  hear  me  what  I  say  ! 
I  reck  not  though  I  end  my  life  to-day.  \_Exit. 

Enter  one  in  sumptuous  armour, 

Hect    Stand,    stand,    thou   Greek ;    thou   art  a 
goodly  mark : 
No  ?  wilt  thou  not  ?     I  like  thy  armour  well ; 
I  '11  frush  it  and  unlock  the  rivets  all, 
But  I  '11  be  master  of  it :  wilt  thou  not,  beast,  abide?    30 
Why,  then  fly  on,  I  '11  hunt  thee  for  thy  hide. 

\Exeunt. 


Scene  VII.     Another  part  of  the  plains. 

Enter  Achilles,  7vith  Myrmidons. 

Achil.    Come    here    about    me,   you    my    Myr- 
midons ; 
Mark  what  I  say.     Attend  me  where  I  wheel : 
Strike .  not    a    stroke,    but    keep    yourselves    in 

breath  : 
And  when  I  have  the  bloody  Hector  found, 

24.  carry,  cany  off.  29.  frush,  bruise; 

495 


Troilus  and  Cressida  actv 

Empale  him  with  your  weapons  round  about ;  * 

In  fellest  manner  execute  your  aims. 

Follow  me,  sirs,  and  my  proceedings  eye : 

It  is  decreed  Hector  the  great  must  die.    [Exeunt. 

Enter  Menelaus  and  V ak\s,  Jightifig :  then 
Thersites. 

Ther.  The  cuckold  and  the  cuckold-maker  are 
at  it.      Now,  bull !  now,  dog !     'Loo,  Paris,  'loo  !    lo 
now  my  double-henned  sparrow  !  'loo,  Paris,  'loo  ! 
The  bull  has  the  game  :  ware  horns,  ho  ! 

\_Exeunf  Paris  and  Menelaus. 

Enter  Margarelon. 

Mar.  Turn,  slave,  and  fight. 

Ther.   What  art  thou  ? 

Mar.  A  bastard  son  of  Priam's, 

Ther.  I  am  a  bastard  too  ;  I  love  bastards  :  I 
am  a  bastard  begot,  bastard  instructed,  bastard 
in  mind,  bastard  in  valour,  in  every  thing  illegi- 
timate. One  bear  will  not  bite  another,  and 
wherefore  should  one  bastard  ?  Take  heed,  20 
the  quarrel 's  most  ominous  to  us  :  if  the  son  of  a 
whore  fight  for  a  whore,  he  tempts  judgement : 
farewell,  bastard.  \Exit. 

Mar.  The  devil  take  thee,  coward  !  \Exit. 


Scene  VIII.     Another  part  of  the  plains. 

Enter  Hector. 

Hect.   Most  putrefied  core,  so  fair  without. 
Thy  goodly  armour  thus  hath  cost  thy  life. 

6.    aims.       Capell's  emenda-      \i'as\x\g?idouble-dcaling\iQX\.,i.e. 
tion  for  Q  Fg  amies,  Fj  arme.         one  with  two  cocks. 
II.  double-henned,  (probably) 

496 


sc.  VIII  Troilus  and  Cressida 

Now   is    my    day's    work    done ;    I  '11   take    good 

breath  : 
Rest,  sword  ;  thou  hast  thy  fill  of  blood  and  death. 
\^Fufs  off  his  helmet  and  hangs  his  shield 

h'hind  him. 

Enter  Achilles  and  Myrmidons. 

Achil.    Look,   Hector,    how   the   sun   begins  to 
set; 
How  ugly  night  comes  breathing  at  his  heels : 
Even  with  the  vail  and  darking  of  the  sun, 
To  close  the  day  up,  Hector's  life  is  done. 

Hsd.    I    am    unarm'd ;     forego    this    vantage, 

Greek. 
Achil.    Strike,   fellows,  strike ;  this  is  the  man 
I  seek.  [Hector  falls,   lo 

So,  Ilion,  fall  thou  next !  now,  Troy,  sink  down  ! 
Here  lies  thy  heart,  thy  sinews,  and  thy  bone. 
On,  Myrmidons,  and  cry  you  all  amain, 
'Achilles  hath  the  mighty  Hector  slain.' 

\_A  retreat  sounded. 
Hark  !  a  retire  upon  our  Grecian  part. 

Myr.    The   Trojan    trumpets    sound    the    like, 

my  lord. 
Achil.    The   dragon  wing   of  night   o'erspreads 
the  earth. 
And,  stickler-like,  the  armies  separates. 
My  half-supp'd    sword,   that    frankly  would   have 

fed. 
Pleased  with  this  dainty  bait,  thus  goes  to  bed.         20 

\_Sheathes  his  sword. 
Come,  tfe  his  body  to  my  horse's  tail ; 
Along  the  field  I  will  the  Trojan  trail,       \Exeunt. 

7.   vail,  setting. 
18.   stickler-like,  like  an  arbitration  in  a  combat. 

VOL.   Ill  497  2  K 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  v 


Scene  IX.     Another  part  of  the  plains. 

Enter  Agamemnon,  Ajax,  Menelaus,  Nestor, 
DiOMEDES,  and  others,  marching.  Shouts 
within. 

Agam.   Hark  !  hark  !  what  shout  is  that  ? 
N^est.   Peace,  drums  ! 
[  Within']     Achilles  !    Achilles  !     Hector  's    slain  ! 
Achilles !     ^xj^i^, 
Dio.    The    bruit    is,    Hector's    slain,    and    by 

Achilles  ! 
Ajax.   If  it  be  so,  yet  bragless  let  it  be ; 
Great  Hector  was  a  man  as  good  as  he. 

Agam.   March  patiently  along  :  let  one  be  sent 
To  pray  Achilles  see  us  at  our  tent. 
If  in  his  death  the  gods  have  us  befriended, 
Great  Troy  is  ours,  and  our  sharp  wars  are  ended,    jo 

\Exeunt,  marching. 

Scene  X.     Another  part  of  the  plains. 

Etiter  ^nfas  and  Trojans, 

yEne.    Stand,  ho !    yet  are  we  masters  of  the 
field: 
Never  go  home ;  here  starve  we  out  the  night. 

Enter  Troilus. 

Tro.   Hector  is  slain. 

All.  Hector !  the  gods  forbid  ! 

Tro.   He 's  dead ;  and  at  the  murderer's  horse's 

tail, 

In  beastly  sort,  dragg'd  through  the  shameful  field. 

Frown    on,   you    heavens,    effect    your    rage   with 

speed  ! 
Sit,  gods,  upon  your  thrones,  and  smile  at  Troy  ! 

498 


sc.  X  Troilus  and  Cressida 

I  say,  at  once  let  your  brief  plagues  be  mercy, 
And  linger  not  our  sure  destructions  on  ! 

^ne.   My  lord,  you  do  discomfort  all  the  host,      lo 
Tro.  You  understand  me  not  that  tell  me  so  : 
I  do  not  speak  of  flight,  of  fear,  of  death, 
But  dare  all  imminence  that  gods  and  men 
Address  their  dangers  in.      Hector  is  gone  : 
Who  shall  tell  Priam  so,  or  Hecuba? 
Let  him  that  will  a  screech-owl  aye  be  call'd, 
Go  in  to  Troy,  and  say  there,  Hector  's  dead  : 
There  is  a  word  will  Priam  turn  to  stone  ; 
Make  wells  and  Niobes  of  the  maids  and  wives, 
Cold  statues  of  the  youth,  and,  in  a  word,  20 

Scare  Troy  out  of  itself.      But,  march  away : 
Hector  is  dead ;  there  is  no  more  to  say. 
Stay  yet.     You  vile  abominable  tents, 
Thus  proudly  pight  upon  our  Phrygian  plains, 
Let  Titan  rise  as  early  as  he  dare. 
I  '11  through  and   through  you  !  and,  thou   great- 
sized  coward. 
No  space  of  earth  shall  sunder  our  two  hates  : 
I  'II  haunt  thee  like  a  wicked  conscience  still, 
That  mouldeth  goblins  swift  as  frenzy's  thoughts. 
Strike  a  free  march  to  Troy  !  with  comfort  go  :  30 

Hope  of  revenge  shall  hide  our  inward  woe. 

\Exeunt  JEneas  and  Trojans. 

As  Troilus  is  going  out,  enter,  from  the  other 
side,  Pandarus. 

Fan.  But  hear  you,  hear  you  ! 

Tro.  Hence,  broker-lackey  !  ignomy  and  shame 
Pursue  thy  life,  and  live  aye  with  thy  name  !  [Exit. 

Fan.  A  goodly  medicine  for  my  aching  bones  ! 
O  world  !  world !  world  !  thus  is  the  poor  agent 
despised !     O  traitors   and  bawds,  how  earnestly 

9.    linger  on,  protract.  24.  pight,  pitched. 

499 


Troilus  and  Cressida  act  v 

are   you  set  a-work,  and   how  ill   requited  !    why 
should  our  endeavour  be  so  loved  and  the   per- 
formance  so   loathed  ?    what  verse   for  it  ?    what    40 
instance  for  it  ?     Let  me  see  : 

Full  merrily  the  humble-bee  doth  sing, 
Till  he  hath  lost  his  honey  and  his  sting ; 
And  being  once  subdued  in  armed  tail, 
Sweet  honey  and  sweet  notes  together  fail. 

Good  traders  in  the  flesh,  set  this  in  your  painted 

cloths.     :_  ■  .-%J?,A  "~*^ 

As  many  as  be  here  of  pandar's  hall, 

Your  eyes,  half  out,  weep  out  at  Pandar's  fall ; 

Or  if  you  cannot  weep,  yet  give  some  groans,  50 

Though  not  for  me,  yet  for  your  aching  bones. 

Brethren  and  sisters  of  the  hold-door  trade. 

Some  two  months   hence  my  will   shall   here   be 

made  : 
It  should  be  now,  but  that  my  fear  is  this,       { 
Some  galled  goose  of  Winchester  would  hiss  :i0^'^^  t-rikyf^i 
Till  then  I  '11  sweat  and  seek  about  for  eases,         ?:.''■•       M 
And  at  that  time  Lequeathe  you  my  diseases. 

46.     painted     cloths,      cloth  ^<i,.  goose  of  Winchester,  \oose. 

hangings  in   rooms,    commonly  woman. 

adorned  with  paintings  and  in-  56.   sweat,  undergo  the  cure 

scriptions.  for  venereal  disease. 


END    OF   VOL.    Ill 


TT».rr«rr?TiOT'T'Ar   ^(  n^^  Ttrr^DXTTM 


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